


Operation Wandless

by EllianaDunla



Series: Wandless [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 112,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllianaDunla/pseuds/EllianaDunla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter has no idea what to do. His new Auror recruits are nothing short of hopeless. Then an idea hits him...<br/>"So, let me get this straight: we're supposed to show some wand-waving weirdos how to do our job?"<br/>"Yes, that is the general idea."</p><p>Or: failing Auror recruits get dumped with MI-5 to get a lesson in how spying is really done, and with cooperating magical and Muggle terrorists on the loose, working together might just be a necessity anyway.</p><p>Set in Spooks season 5 and after the Deathly Hallows, but before the epilogue of Harry Potter</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry Potter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear readers. I know I’m not supposed to be starting a new story when I’ve already got two others in progress, but this idea has been growing for a while now, so here goes. The idea for this fic was inspired by the one-shot Harry and Albus in the Park by Lavanya Six on Fanfiction.net, who explored the idea that there might be some kind of cooperation between wizards and the British security services.  
> The first chapter is a bit of an introduction. The spooks enter next chapter, which I will try to get up within a week.  
> Enjoy and please leave a comment if you have a minute. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Harry Potter was having the worst day since, well, he could not exactly remember since when. It might even be his worst day since the end of the war. Really, it was just one of those days he should have taken the day off and let someone else take care of all the mess. Unfortunately, he had not taken the day off and here he was, in his own office at the Aurors’ Headquarters, giving the three latest recruits to his team as icy a stare as he could manage. Taken into account just how wrong things had gone this day, that was pretty scaring.

He was tempted to let his head rest in his hands and block out the rest of the world, but that would certainly undermine his authority. Instead he opted on studying all three of them with as stern a look as he could manage, letting them sweat for a little longer.

Well, not all of them were sweating. Julius Burke, although all people with any knowledge of Muggle history preferred to call him Julius Caesar because of his bossy behaviour, was a tall, pure-blood young man who often gave the impression of not being scared of anything or anyone. This resulted in a certain measure of arrogance, of which he was giving an excellent demonstration just now. He met Harry’s gaze with nonchalance, almost as if he was challenging him to react. Typical Slytherin arrogance, Harry could not help but think. He tried not to let the house rivalries of his school time cloud his judgement, but just looking at Julius made that very hard. He was everything Slytherin stood for: sly, cunning, self-confident and, last but not least, acting like he owned the place.

Standing on the other end of the row stood his Gryffindor recruit and Julius’s sworn rival: Robert West. He was indeed the complete opposite of Julius: half-blood, reckless and very short-tempered. He had done nothing but pointing his finger at Julius since they had entered this office a quarter of an hour ago. It was as predictable as it was annoying.

The only one not to open their mouth was the only female recruit to the team: a recently graduated Ravenclaw girl by the name of Amy Hamilton, strategically positioned between the two biggest trouble-makers Harry had encountered in a long time. She reminded Harry of Hermione a lot, not in looks, but in intelligence. The Muggle-born was the only one to admit that they had made a mistake, making her Harry’s favourite recruit since that moment.

He shook his head in annoyance. ‘Does any of you wish to tell me what happened today?’ he asked, giving each of them a stern look. Amy met it with shame, Robert with defiance and Julius with indifference.

‘I told you before, sir,’ Robert began. ‘It wasn’t my fault, or Amy’s,’ he added as an afterthought. Again, it was all very predictable. ‘We did as you instructed us. It was _him_ ,’ a finger was accusingly pointed in Julius’s direction, ‘that came out too early, even though I told him…’

‘Do I have to listen to this nonsense, sir?’ Julius drawled, the respectful sir just added a second too late. ‘We all know I did as I was instructed. After all, I wasn’t the one to _giggle_ ,’ the word was uttered as if it was some kind of contagious disease, ‘just as the suspect entered the building.’

‘You rotten liar!’ Robert exploded. ‘That is not what happened and you know it.’

Harry was severely tempted to roll his eyes at them, but decided just in time that that wasn’t going to solve anything. Sometimes these two did remind him of Draco Malfoy and himself when they were still in school, always blaming the other, always proving they were better than the other. At any other time this might have been amusing, just not now, with a criminal on the loose that they could have captured had all of them done as they were told. If only they were at Hogwarts. At least he could have deducted points and given them all a detention. Alas, that wasn’t an option now.

So instead he turned to Amy, who was studying the carpet with a devotion not often seen, her cheeks flushed bright crimson in embarrassment. Like it was somehow her fault that her fellow-recruits had trouble behaving like nineteen year olds instead of nine year olds. ‘Miss Hamilton, would you like to give me a report of the day?’ he asked.

‘But…’ both males started to protest.

‘Do I need to use _Silencio_ on you or will you shut your mouths without help?’ His patience was wearing very thin indeed and it seeped through in his voice, effectively shutting them up. ‘Miss Hamilton?’

‘We went to the suspect’s house as instructed, sir,’ she reported, her voice steady and calm even though she still looked positively embarrassed. ‘We searched it and found the Dark objects. As per your instructions we left them untouched. The suspect arrived home just as we were finishing our search of the kitchen, so we hid away to prevent him from noticing us. Julius hid in the cupboard under the stairs and Robert and I hid behind the couch in the living room.’

Harry nodded to signal that he understood her. So far, so good. Now was the point in the tale he wanted to hear, the point where it all had gone belly-up. Amy was known as a truthful girl, but she was also known as the girl who had a huge crush on one Robert West. For such a bright girl she absolutely lacked a taste for men. He was curious to see what would win out in the end. ‘What happened then?’ he urged when she fell silent, her gaze firmly locked on the coffee stain in the carpet again.

‘Well, sir…’ She hesitated for a moment and then straightened her back, took a deep breath and continued: ‘Apparently Julius’s idea of a joke was to put some itching powder in Robert’s clothes, so he started to giggle when the suspect was just putting the Dark objects into some kind of bag, alerting him to our presence.’

‘Was not!’ Robert protested and Harry corrected himself. This wasn’t nine year old behaviour, it was that of a four year old. _Give him another minute and he’ll be wailing like a baby_ , he thought sarcastically.

‘Yes, you were,’ Julius argued, shooting him a death glare. ‘Face it, West, it’s your fault he got away.’

Should he just send them to the corner as a punishment, treat them as if they truly were kids that had been naughty? The prospect was tempting to say at least, although he doubted it would have any effect on their current behaviour. But then, at this point he was at a loss as to what _would_ have a lasting effect. He had tried it all already.

‘Liar!’ Robert snarled. ‘You know it isn’t. If you hadn’t…’

Whatever it was he wanted to say was silenced by Harry’s spell. He had pulled out his wand and silencioed the hot-headed Gryffindor. He repeated the spell on Julius just for good measure. This nonsense had to stop now. Maybe it annoyed him all the more because he had once been exactly like Robert. For him it had taken an entire war to change his deep-rooted views of Slytherins. Hopefully it didn’t take that much for these two. And to think that they were to be colleagues. They already gave him headaches.

‘Miss Hamilton?’ he asked, as polite as he could manage. None of this was probably her fault and it was his duty to treat her accordingly.

‘The suspect was alarmed and was deciding what to do when Julius came out of the cupboard, sir,’ she went on. ‘He told him to drop his wand and surrender, so then Robert and I came out of hiding, too. The suspect panicked, disarmed Julius and stupefied Robert before Apparating away, with his bag and Julius’s wand, sir.’

‘Is that right, Mr Burke?’ Harry demanded. ‘You let him get away with your wand?’ Honestly, you’d almost say they had learned nothing by now. How on earth could anyone in his senses, especially an aspiring Auror, not be prepared for such an obvious and simple spell?

‘It wasn’t like that, sir,’ Julius argued, for the first time sounding a bit alarmed. About time too. ‘I was trying to save the situation we were only in because West couldn’t stop himself from giggling like a little girl.’

Harry’s patience had finally run out. He had learned to control his temper in the years since the war and these days he seldom exploded like he used to do in school, but Julius was trying very hard to tempt him into a full-blown anger attack. ‘Enough!’ he bellowed. ‘I expect a full report on today’s events on my desk by tomorrow morning in which each of you will explain to me what you yourself, not the others, did wrong. And Mr Burke, I suggest you go down to Ollivander’s this instant to buy yourself a new wand. Do I make myself clear?’

To his satisfaction the Slytherin staggered a few steps back, some shock visible on his face. ‘Yes, sir,’ he replied.

‘Very well. You are dismissed for the day. You’ll report at this office at nine am tomorrow to hear the consequences of your actions.’

Amy paled visibly and even the two males seemed uncomfortable. Harry guessed that was a good thing. Maybe it would make them cooperate for once. Merlin knew that he needed it. They left his office so fast as if they had encountered a Blast-Ended Skrewt in it, the door slamming behind them.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his luxury chair. It was almost a miracle that he even held this position. He was the youngest Head of the Auror Department ever and he knew it was a privilege. But he could really do without all this mess with the youngest recruits.

Oh, they were talented, all of them, extremely so even. Amy’s Charms and Transfiguration were unlike anything he had even seen before. She might put even Hermione to shame with them. She had come out of Hogwarts with nothing but Outstanding on all her NEWTs and the praise of all her teachers. Julius was an excellent dueller with a knack for everything to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts, just like Robert. Their scores were great and Harry had no choice but to accept them when they applied for a position with his team. Their magical skills were top of the bill and that was what he needed here.

No, that was not the problem. The problem was that, like so many other wizards, they underestimated the importance of other skills, such as how to behave like adults for example. In that respect the Muggles were definitely far more advanced. Harry, having spent his youth in the Muggle world, had never heard of a Muggle making such a mess of an operation. As far as he knew they may not have magic, but they had other skills to make up for what they lacked. It were these skills that allowed them to keep their country safe from all the dangers that plagued the Muggles of Britain these days. It were also skills that his recruits, with the possible exception of Amy Hamilton, lacked. If only there was a way to teach them, Harry thought wishfully.

Suddenly it all connected. He shouldn’t be here in his office moaning about the hopelessness of it all, not when there really was a way to teach his recruits everything they needed to know and he would be a fool not to use it. So he stood up and made his way to Kingsley’s office. It was time to make use of one of his most valuable contacts.

 

* * *

 

Kingsley was dictating a report to his quill when Harry knocked on his door, but he abandoned it as soon as he caught sight of the Head of the Auror Department in his office.

‘Harry, good to see you,’ he said, smiling. ‘No, you stupid quill, I don’t want you to write that down!’

Harry’s gaze wandered to the quill in question that kept scribbling away. ‘What kind of quill is that, Kingsley?’ Even from where he stood he could see the quill wrote down his question in a neat writing.

‘Birthday present from George Weasley,’ the Minister of Magic answered absent-mindedly. He was too preoccupied with trying to get his quill to stop writing down every word they were saying to notice Harry’s smirk. ‘All Quotes Quill, he called it. He swore it would be ideal to write reports of anything I might want, but now I can’t seem to get it to stop. _Finite_!’

The quill ignored him. Harry would have lied had he said he was surprised. If George was the one to have given the Minister this object… ‘Well, it is an All Quotes Quill, sir,’ he remarked, trying not to laugh. ‘Maybe you should just wait till it reaches the end of the parchment.’

Kingsley finally looked up. ‘Or I should just snap it,’ he commented dryly. ‘I should have known better than to accept something coming from that shop of his by now. Sit down, Harry. Can I offer you something to drink? You might need it after today.’

He grimaced. ‘That obvious?’

Kingsley pointed out a note on his desk. ‘Trouble with your new recruits, I heard.’

Harry sighed. ‘News travels fast around here. I take it you have heard it all, then?’

The Minister nodded, his calm expression calming Harry himself a bit too. He had no idea how the older man did it, especially with all that responsibility resting on his shoulders, but Harry was grateful for it. ‘One of your recruits started laughing in the middle of an operation, wasn’t it?’

‘Giggling, actually,’ Harry corrected. ‘And only because his rival had put itching powder in his robes. They’re hopeless. I’d have them kicked out if their scores had not been so high. They have promise, all of them. They just lack discipline and common sense.’ To his amusement he saw that the quill was still writing down each and every word they spoke.

‘Are you sure, Harry?’ Kingsley asked. ‘If they are as incapable as you would have me believe, wouldn’t it be better to search for other recruits?’

He had considered that at least twice a day for the last four months, and he had come to the same conclusion each and every time. ‘No. There are no other recruits I would like on the team. Either their NEWT scores are not high enough or their intake tests are too low. And they have the potential, I know they have.’ If only they started using it for their job instead of childish pranks. ‘And I can’t afford not to take any new recruits. We’re already four men down after the Manchester debacle.’

Kingsley grimaced. The Manchester debacle had been a rather painful and embarrassing affair, so naturally Rita Skeeter had written about it for weeks on end. Somehow some Death Eaters that had escaped justice for years had allied themselves with a group of dangerous Muggle terrorists. The group had blown up entire streets in several important cities before the Aurors had finally tracked them down. It had come to a showdown in the centre of Manchester, with Aurors and Death Eaters fighting for dear life. In the end the Death Eaters and their Muggle accomplices had been captured, but the damage was great. Two Aurors had died and two others had been carried off to St. Mungo’s, from which they had yet to be discharged. Countless buildings had been damaged, but the worst thing was the number of Muggles that had witnessed the fight. The Ministry had had a lot of work tracking them and wiping their memories.

‘I see,’ Kingsley nodded. ‘But what is it you need me for?’

 _Tea and sympathy to start with_. ‘I think you can help,’ he replied, thinking carefully how he would phrase his idea. It was unconventional, but then, so were most of his plans. But this one was a bit more unconventional than anything he had come up with before.

‘Anything, Harry. As long as it is within my powers of course.’ The quill wrote down everything he said.

 _Don’t be too quick to promise me anything_. ‘Oh, I think it is within your powers, sir,’ Harry replied. He knew he didn’t have to address the Minister like that, but a bit of respect never hurt anyone and he was about to ask a huge favour. ‘You told me once that you have a contact within the Muggle security service, didn’t you?’

Kingsley clearly failed to see what Harry was trying to say. ‘Yes, I do,’ he nodded, confusion written all over his face. ‘Why do you ask?’

Harry took a deep breath and then explained his idea to the Minister.

‘Merlin’s beard,’ Kingsley exclaimed when he was finished, falling back in his seat. ‘That would be very unusual.’

There was of course no denying that. ‘It might also be very useful,’ he argued. ‘The Muggles do have skills that we obviously don’t possess. And if you say that their people know about us already, then what have we got to lose?’

‘The Statute of Secrecy, for example,’ the Minister pointed out.

 _Screw the Statute_. ‘The Statute is going to violated more if one of those three makes a mistake again. Next time it might not be just a suspect getting away.’

‘I can try to get into contact with Albus’s old contact,’ Kingsley replied hesitantly. ‘He’s a reasonable man as far as I know.’

Harry knew he had won the fight and tried not to smile. ‘I’d be grateful,’ he said, very truthfully. He knew nothing was certain yet, but at least he had gotten Kingsley to agree to his plans and that had to count for something. and honestly, he wouldn’t know what to do if this plan failed. He had the feeling he had tried it all by now and none of it had worked. ‘Could you let me know as soon as you hear from your contact?’

Kingsley nodded. ‘Immediately, Harry.’

‘Thanks, Kingsley. I owe you.’

The Minister huffed. ‘You can start repaying me by making this worthless quill stop writing!’

‘I’m afraid that’s beyond my power, sir,’ Harry replied with a smirk. ‘That’s a Weasley product. I’m done trying to stop those. Not even an Auror can stand against its many pranks.’ He closed the door behind him before the ex-Auror had the chance to react.


	2. Harry Pearce

Harry Pearce was having a bad day and there weren’t even terrorists on the loose. No, said bad day was mainly caused by the prospect of the meeting he was now going to. The head of Section D wasn’t a big fan of dealing with the secret wizard community of Britain and he liked it even less when he owed them a favour. Harry was used to being the one favours were owed to, not to be the one owing.

Yet here he was, owing a favour to the Minister of Magic for catching some of the terrorists that had gotten themselves involved with some of the magical terrorists, otherwise known as Death Eaters, in Manchester some weeks ago. Naturally the wizards should have kept a closer eye on their people, but the fact remained that they had stopped the group and had ascertained that Britain was safe once again.

‘I still can’t believe that this is not one colossal joke, Harry.’ Adam Carter was behind the wheel, still looking at his boss as if he had grown a second head.

Harry snorted. ‘If only.’

Truth was, he had reacted in exactly the same fashion when he had first been told about the existence of the wizarding world shortly after he had entered MI-5. There had been a war in full swing back in the day with some seriously deranged man with a wand killing off ordinary British citizens, known as Muggles to the wizards, for the sheer fun of it. The wizards had tried to keep MI-5 out of their business, claiming that they were perfectly capable of dealing with this mess themselves, which, admittedly, they had in the end, albeit with quite a bit of help from Harry’s section. That would have been the end of it, had not the deranged wizard resurfaced back in the nineties, shortly after Harry had been promoted to his current position. Back then the entire team had known about the wizards, but there had been no need to keep up the contact after that war too had ended and these days only Malcolm and Harry were aware of the existence of the wizarding community. Until today, of coure.

‘We cannot be seriously considering to even talk to these people.’ Adam was still trying to wrap his head around the concept of magic and Harry could hardly blame him for that. He had not taken it any better than his Section Chief when he had been first informed. He had a faint recollection of thinking how to best suggest a visit to a shrink to his boss at the time. Unfortunately an encounter with a real wizard had soon cured him of that attitude.

‘We’ll have to,’ Harry said. ‘Without the option, I’m afraid. And they have been quite useful to us recently.’ And by useful he meant of course the fact that they had rid British society of a few of the greatest nuisances. And at least they had the good sense to wipe some memories and clear up the mess they had made in Manchester. Wiping memories was a far more secure system than the Official Secrets Act to guarantee secrecy in Harry’s opinion, provided he was not on the receiving end of said memory wiping.

Adam kept his silence, but the expression on his face spoke volumes. And Harry was no more willing to meet with his counterpart of the Ministry of Magic than his Section Chief was. Usually they had annual meetings to establish that there was nothing going on in either of their communities that could have an effect on the other’s community and that was it. And Harry liked it that way. But this meeting was not only five months before the scheduled one, his asset had also asked him to bring his deputy. And needing reinforcements was always a bad sign in Harry’s experience.

Today’s meeting was taking place in some small pub. The owners of said pub had close ties to the wizarding world and had signed the Official Secrets Act, effectively ensuring that no word of the conversations taking place there every year ever got out. It was a nice and clean place and Harry never had any problems with it for as long as he visited it, even if there was a feel of magic in the air that he had never gotten quite comfortable with.

Adam parked the car in a nearby parking lot, still looking at the road as if that was the cause for all his problems. Harry had only informed him this morning that he was to accompany him to this meeting, but then, he had only gotten the note last night himself. It had just appeared on his desk just as he had been about to shut down his computer to go home and treat himself to a large whisky after a hard day’s work.

He walked the short distance to the pub with Adam next to him, giving every impression of being completely relaxed, even when he felt rather tense. But he had years and years of experience of doing this and it had become second nature to mask what he was really thinking and feeling.

The morning was still chilly, even if the sun was shining, a rare occasion indeed. But the pub was warm. The owners were a little old-fashioned, believing that a real hearth was much more comfortable than central heating, and there was a fire in said hearth, making the pub feel rather like a sauna or a hospital. ‘Morning, John,’ he greeted pleasantly, shedding his coat to stop himself from getting criminally overheated within a matter of seconds.

The owner nodded and smiled his acknowledgement of the other’s presence. ‘Good morning, Mr Pearce. It’s been far too long since we last saw you in here.’ The greeting was as predictable as it was enthusiastic and Harry found himself in danger of smiling too.

‘Only seven months this time,’ the head of Section D corrected stoically. ‘I’m five months ahead of schedule.’

‘True, true,’ John nodded. ‘Just the usual then?’

‘It’s a little early for whisky, don’t you think?’ Harry asked, a little amused by the man’s eagerness to please. ‘Coffee for both of us, please.’

‘Of course, Mr Pearce, Mr…?’ He looked at Adam.

The Section Chief gave a nod. ‘Harding,’ he replied. ‘Nick Harding.’

Harry walked over to the table in the far back of the pub. It was still early and this establishment would officially not open for another two hours, by which time Harry hoped to have concluded whatever business had to be discussed here today. And John would leave them alone, of that they could be certain.

He was pleased to find that they had been the first to arrive. Kingsley had the annoying habit to show up first usually. His predecessor, Harry’s contact during the wizards’ war, one Albus Dumbledore, at least had come exactly at the agreed time, not a minute early, not a minute late.

Adam was ill at ease when he joined his boss on the chair next to him, leaving the other side of the table vacant for the wizard that should be arriving any minute now. ‘I still can’t believe we’re even doing this,’ he hissed. ‘Can’t these people just sort out their own mess and leave us out of it?’

‘Apparently not.’ As much as they liked to think that they could, the past had proven that the wizards did sometimes need the help of their Muggle counterparts to contain some of their own rogue people. Harry however thought it good that he had never yet really needed their help to deal with their own terrorists, a fact he may subtly have mentioned once or twice when he did need a favour of them. He had called upon his magical contacts a few times to wipe a memory or two, or to make sure that certain people did not go near a certain place at a certain time, but that was as far as his contact with them went these days. ‘We do not really have a choice in this, not after they took care of the sodding Manchester debacle.’

Adam nodded. He knew what Harry was talking about, having been forced to read the file on that operation before they had left Thames House. And even Harry had to admit that the wizards had done them a service with that. He had not asked what had become of the terrorists the wizards had captured during that showdown, but he had been assured that they would not bother them again. And Harry knew when not to ask questions. It was a part of his job.

He was somewhat distracted by the hearth at this point in his musings. The flames turned green and the next moment it spat out two men who landed on their feet, brushing the ash off their clothes as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. The flames had already returned to their normal shape and colour when the two arrivals made their way over to the table where Harry and Adam were seated. The latter had visibly trouble keeping his reactions under control. He reminded Harry a bit of himself when he had first seen this happening, but by now he had become rather used to it.

‘Harry, good to see you again.’ Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister of Magic, extended his hand so Harry could shake it.

‘If a little ahead of schedule,’ Harry agreed. Truth was that he was not pleased to see the tall wizard at all. Whether one lived in the Muggle world or in the wizarding one, unexpected meetings had never boded well before. ‘And who is your companion?’

The man standing next to Kingsley was young still, with unruly black hair and green eyes that studied him from behind a pair of glasses. He reached out himself and shook Harry’s hand. ‘Harry Potter,’ he introduced himself. ‘Head of the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic. Pleasure to meet you, sir.’

Harry wished that the feeling could be mutual, but that was highly unlikely. He knew Aurors were the in a way the magical equivalent of MI-5 and the fact that Kingsley had brought one of his own spies with him wasn’t doing Harry’s mood any favours. But he nodded at the younger man, conjuring up another pleasant smile, the only thing he of course was capable of conjuring at all.

The other Harry’s gaze sifted towards Adam and he extended his hand again. ‘And a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr…?’

‘Adam Carter, Section Chief of Section D, MI-5,’ the spook replied curtly, still not overly enthusiastic about this whole meeting, and neither was his boss. He viewed this as a marriage of convenience. It was necessary, both parties benefited from it in one way or another, but neither one was particularly thrilled about the cooperation and there was no love lost between them.

‘Take a seat, please,’ Harry said, beckoning at the two remaining chairs at the table, thus taking the lead in the conversation. ‘We’re a little pressed for time as you might understand. Lives to protect, liberties to preserve. And of course this meeting was not scheduled to take place for another five months.’

Kingsley nodded and took a chair, even as his security chef frowned in disapproval. How that man had become a spy was something of a mystery to the head of Section D; his emotions were written all over his face for all to read. Adam had himself under control again, sitting down again after he had shaken Kingsley’s hand as well. And now, with the social niceties out of the way, they could talk business.

‘Something came up,’ Kingsley clarified.

‘That tends to happen every now and then,’ Harry agreed, sipping his coffee with every appearance of not being particularly interested in what the wizard had to say. ‘And what exactly does it have to do with my section? As you know we don’t usually deal with the troubles from your people.’

‘I am well aware of that.’ To his surprise it was the Auror that answered. ‘However, we were hoping that you could make an exception just this once. We have a rather delicate situation that needs dealing with as soon as possible.’ Delicate here of course meaning something they wanted Section D to help out with.

‘Ah,’ Harry said. ‘And what would that be?’

The other Harry seemed to take this as an encouragement, even if that was not how Harry Pearce had intended it at all. What followed was a tale of a botched up operation and recruits that would never have made it through the initial MI-5 tests for all new recruits. In the past years Harry had learned that stupidity was a characteristic well represented in the wizarding DNA, but this was topping it all.

‘While this of course is very unfortunate, I do feel obliged to point out that your personnel issues are no concern of MI-5,’ he replied. To be quite honest he had no idea what was even asked of him here, but he was convinced that whatever it was, he was not going to like it. And he was less than eager to deal with wizards any more than he needed to. He was not going to admit this to anyone, but magic unnerved him somewhat, not in the last place because it had the tendency to mess up every device MI-5 usually used to track down dangerous individuals. And the fact that wizards could appear and disappear at will was not a thought Harry liked either.

‘I was rather hoping that your people could take them under their wings to show them how their job should be done, sir.’ Harry had to give it to him, the younger man was bold and daring, straight to the point. He did not even seem to be ashamed to ask this.

‘Ah,’ Harry said. ‘You are of course aware that there always is the Service’s training course should your recruits need some extra training.’ He could hardly even believe that this conversation was taking place at all. Over the years he had come to expect strange things where the magical community was concerned. ‘Our security service, so unlike your own, is also a _secret_ service,’ he continued. ‘We are not in the habit of bringing in officers from other agencies to show them how our job is to be done, flattered though I am by your faith in my section.’ He had become rather good at this game over the years, the natural results of his attempts to keep the politicians happy, so that they would not feel the urge to meddle to much in the affairs of Section D. And while part of him wanted nothing more than to walk out of that door and tell these wizards to sod off and grow themselves a brain or drink an Intelligence Draught, he also knew how to handle these situations with tact, just in case they ever needed to cooperate with these people again. After all, one could never know.

‘Naturally we would call it a joined operation,’ Kingsley chimed in. The man was composed and calm and in the decade Harry had known him he had never once seen him get angry or even ruffled. As politicians went, he might be even a good one. Harry had made a point of subscribing to the Daily Prophet some years ago in order to keep tabs on everything that was going on in that parallel society – as a spook he could not help but want to be well informed – and it would seem that Kingsley was indeed rather popular Minister, the type Harry would just love to see take up residence in the Home Office. Of course he had had no such luck thus far.

‘And what do you mean by that?’ This time it was Adam speaking. The Section Chief was eyeing the wizards with barely concealed suspicion.

‘It has come to our attention that several Death Eaters as well as a number of their accomplices has somehow managed to Disapparate from the scene in Manchester. The latest reports are that they are still on the loose somewhere.’

Harry had to work hard to keep the pleasant smile in place. This was why he hated to work with wizards. Keeping their Muggle allies informed had never been very high on their to-do list, not even during that war of theirs, when the exchange of information could be of vital importance. Somehow it made the head of Section D feel like a child being deliberately kept in the dark so that the adults could handle the situation before said clumsy child even had the chance to get involved. ‘The Manchester debacle was four weeks ago.’ No matter how much he tried to control it, some of his anger seeped through in his voice. ‘Exactly when were you planning to let us know that interesting piece of information?’

‘We had the matter under investigation,’ the Minister of Magic replied.

Harry started wishing he had brought Ros Myers with him today instead of Adam. He vividly recalled her rant to him only a few days ago about him keeping her father’s prison sentence from her. Much as he had problems communicating with the latest addition to the team, she would have been capable of telling Kingsley what she told him about this behaviour and to hell with protocol and social niceties. Harry doubted the last concept was even known to her.

‘You are of course aware that several of those suspects are wanted for serious crimes committed in our society.’ He still had his voice and expression under control, but the control was wavering. ‘They pose a serious threat to national security, so why has MI-5 not been alerted to this? You informed me that the matter was taken care of.’

‘We were going to let you know…’ Kingsley began.

‘In what year exactly?’ Harry inquired sarcastically. He slammed his fist on the table, startling the other Harry, but not Kingsley, who remained as stoical as he had been before. ‘This is _not_ acceptable!’

‘We were proposing to make this a joint operation to combine our strengths,’ the Minister replied. ‘There’s both Muggle and magical people involved. It would help if we shared our intelligence in order to catch them.’

‘By sending your worst three officers to work with my team,’ Harry finished.

‘Think of them as liaison officers,’ Kingsley suggested. ‘And they would of course answer to you alone for the duration of the operation.’

He was being backed into a corner. He had done it to too many people not to know when the other party had the upper hand. And the notion that there were still dangerous terrorists on the loose was bad news indeed. They now had the need for information and they might just not get it if he did not grant them the favour they were so clearly all but demanding of him. ‘We would of course get full access to all your intelligence should we agree to such an arrangement.’ If he was going to give in, they would do it on his terms. He was going to get something out of this as well as they. It was only fair.

Kingsley looked reluctant. His Head Auror looked downright unyielding and disapproving. ‘Harry, you know we don’t usually share our files.’

‘And I don’t usually allow officers from different agencies on my floor,’ Harry countered. ‘It will be a first for all of us.’ And of course he could always assign those three Auror recruits to work with Ros. That would probably have them running back to the Ministry of Magic before the first day was out. ‘And of course our first priority has to be to catch our renegade terrorists, would you not agree?’ He would have to make the best of a situation he would really rather have avoided.

There was a lengthy silence, the only sounds coming from the activity in the kitchen and the crackling fire in the hearth. But in the end Kingsley nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, but I could really use some feedback on this story, so comments will be very much appreciated.


	3. Amy Hamilton

Amy Hamilton was more than a little nervous about doing this, not in the last place because she was positive she would get suspended the moment her boss found out what she and her fellow recruits were doing this very minute. She kept moving, fidgeting and hoping that no one would suddenly come in to reprimand her about eavesdropping on her own boss.

The young recruit loved her new job. She had wanted to get in here since she was in second year of Hogwarts and to be accepted was a dream come true. To be kicked out of here in disgrace would be a nightmare and she was quite determined for it to never come to that. And thanks to the boys getting kicked out was not such a strange notion anymore. Quite the contrary, it had become a rather terrifying, but far too realistic prospect.

Were Julius to be sacked, she could not care less. She had never liked the pure-blood Slytherin. He was far too arrogant and full of himself to be friends with. He in turn had always looked at her with disdain because she was Muggle-born. She’d have thought that people in this day and age would be over such ridiculous prejudices, but it would seem that she had been mistaken.

Of course Robert had always stood up for her, ever since he had first caught a group of Slytherins bullying her in first year. She supposed that was why she liked him so much. He could be childish and behaved like an idiot on more than one occasion, but when it came down to it, he really had the potential to be a knight in shining armour.

‘We should not be doing this,’ she said again as the men – for once in complete agreement – were busy to untangle the Extendable Ears they were planning to use to listen in to the boss’s meeting with Ronald Weasley. Robert thought they might be discussing their punishment and therefore it would be well worth the risk to listen in.

The Auror Headquarter was all but abandoned and the chance of anyone catching them doing this was small indeed, Amy would admit. The three of them had only been asked to stay behind to be informed of the consequences of their actions. Originally they would have heard this morning, but Mr Potter had claimed to need to go to an urgent meeting and they were left waiting. The young Ravenclaw had used the day to finish some reports and to help fix a colleague’s desk that had taken up the habit of eating its owner’s parchments. She was suspended, as were her fellow recruits, until further notion and she needed to have something to keep her occupied. And maybe helping out would make the boss look on her kinder. And one thing was for sure: he would not do so if he found her listening to a conversation not meant for her ears.

‘No need for you to be here, Hamilton,’ Julius snapped. ‘Just go and run off to your desk if you’re too cowardly.’

She glowered at him. Julius Burke may be a good deal taller than she was, and combined with his broad shoulders be an impressive and intimidating person, but she was not about to go and run away from bullies. If Amy had one weakness it was being unable to run away from a challenge, no matter what was the nature of it. And this was a challenge if ever she heard one. ‘Is that a way of telling me that _you_ are too cowardly to go through with it?’

Robert had clearly been about to go ahead and rip his rival’s head off for insulting Amy, but the anger turned to a pleased smirk as he heard that she was more than able to stand her ground. But really, he should not have been that surprised. After all, she would never have made it here had she not been capable of holding her own.

‘She’s got you there, Burke,’ the Gryffindor commented. He had always liked to tease the Slytherin as much as he could, leaving no opportunity pass to place some snide remark or hex him if he thought he could get away with it.

‘Shut up, West,’ Julius growled. ‘Do something useful and help me untangle these blasted Ears or we’ll never get to hear a thing. Wouldn’t be the first time you messed up an operation.’

Robert’s face started to closely resemble an overripe tomato. It was only a matter of seconds before he exploded and Amy was sure would find herself right in the middle of a duel in Muggle style. And she was not about to watch as these two made matters even worse than they already were.

‘Let me,’ she offered, holding out her hands with an exasperated sigh. ‘Or we’ll never be done before Christmas.’ It would not be unwelcome if this dragged on until the meeting in the office over there was finished, but Amy found herself liking the idea of her fellow recruits getting themselves caught up in a fight even less. _And maybe my luck holds and Mr Potter has been clever enough to put an Imperturbable Charm on the door of his office_. That would lessen the chance of getting caught. After all, with nothing to listen to, this adventure would soon be over.

Julius gave her a disdainful look. ‘You?’

Snapping at him would not do her any favours now, she had to firmly remind herself. ‘No, Merlin,’ she retorted. ‘Now, give here.’

Really, were these two even wizards? Why do by hand what you could do by magic? One wave of her wand and the strings untangled themselves. Amy, being the child of Muggles with not one drop of magical blood in their veins, had grown up without magic and she had found she loved doing things by magic she had previously been forced to do by hand. This was just one of those things. And the dumbfounded expression on the guys’ faces did make this well worth the trouble.

She shrugged. ‘Well, we do have magic at our disposal, do we not?’

Julius muttered something that sounded like ‘know-it-all,’ but Robert threw her a grin that made her blush bright red. ‘You’re a genius, Amy. Why didn’t I think of that myself?’

‘Because your skull is as thick as the walls of Hogwarts,’ Julius sneered.

Amy’s fists clenched in frustration. Honestly, could these two not act their age? Had they gotten stuck in puberty and not grown up at all? ‘Were we not going to use these Extendable Ears?’ she asked. ‘At this rate it will be Christmas before we get to listen to what they’re saying.’

That was a clear wake-up call for both of them. With a last glare at the other – their way of trying to not look like a loser – they each took an Ear and they set to work. It made Amy feel like a true spy to listen in to meetings not meant for her ears. She could not truly banish the feeling of excitement, even as she could not banish the feeling of dread either. She didn’t need reminding that eavesdropping on her boss meant discharge.

For a moment she feared – and hoped – that the door had truly been Imperturbed, but then she could hear Ronald Weasley, another Auror and close friend of the boss, speaking so loud he could have been standing next to her for all she knew. ‘So, it didn’t go too bad then?’ he asked.

The boss sighed and Amy could picture him leaning back in his chair. ‘It could have been worse,’ he admitted. ‘At least they agreed to the plan. They weren’t cheering about it, but they agreed. But at a cost.’

Amy found herself rather confused. What plan? And who were _they_? Really, this could not be about their punishment at all. This was quite possibly Auror business and that meant she had absolutely no right to listen in, not that she had that anyway. She should be going, running back to her desk as Julius had suggested. This was just not the moral thing to be doing.

But she found herself incapable of running away. She blamed the curiosity for grounding her in place, making her want to know what was going on. There was no reasonable explanation for her behaviour otherwise.

‘What’d they want?’ Auror Weasley asked. ‘Not too much?’

Mr Potter snorted. ‘Just every single file we have on every single Death Eater and Muggle terrorist involved, those captured and those still at large.’

‘Bloody hell!’ was the reaction to that. ‘Kingsley can’t be considering to give it to them, can he?’

This did explain something. There was only one operation Amy was aware of that dealt with both renegade Death Eaters and Muggle terrorists. It would seem that Mr Potter and the Minister had called in the help of the mysterious _they_ , who were as of yet unidentified. That was the trouble with eavesdropping on other people’s private conversations: they were unlikely to elaborate on things that were already obvious to them, if not to the eavesdroppers. That sort of thing only happened in very bad Muggle movies and books and unfortunately not in real life. But whoever _they_ were, they were apparently about to help out and if she had interpreted right, they would be an unlikely group to go to for help. Well, she was an Auror in training, suspended or not, and she was quite skilled at putting two and two together.

‘He thinks it might prove useful to let them look at it,’ Mr Potter replied. ‘To look at it with a fresh perspective, he called it, I think.’ He sighed. ‘And their boss did seem rather determined to catch the terrorists, I’ll give him that. Wasn’t too pleased with our not telling them so far either.’

‘I’d bet. So, what’s he like? I mean, he’s a Muggle and all, but do you think he could be useful?’ Auror Weasley sounded a bit sceptical. He didn’t hate Muggles, as so many other wizards did, but he would be right in thinking that Muggles would be next to no use in trying to catch wizards, and Death Eaters at that. Even Amy, being Muggle-born, would have to admit that.

So, that brought on the question of why in Merlin’s name the Minister had thought it a good idea to bring in Muggles after the Manchester debacle, as the operation was now widely knows thanks to Rita Skeeter, even if it had started out under a different name. How could Muggles be in any way useful? Amy could not honestly answer that question.

‘Harry Pearce?’ Mr Potter asked. After a curt silence in which Auror Weasley quite possibly nodded, he continued: ‘Reminds me a bit of a bull dog, the way he behaves. He knew he was being wronged and he used it, so I’d say he’s clever as well. And well-informed. He knows a lot about us. I think Kingsley said he was actively involved in the war.’

‘A Muggle involved in our war?’ The tone was a bit incredulous. ‘Isn’t that a violation of the Statute of Secrecy?’

‘Officially, yes,’ Harry Potter said. ‘Unofficially I think it’s conveniently overlooked because it’s good to have a contact like him. And he does run the Muggle secret service. If anyone knows how to keep secrets…’

The Muggle secret service? Were they involving MI-5 in this? Well, she supposed it would make sense for them to do so, since quite a few of the suspects were originally Muggle terrorists wanted by the Muggle authorities for various acts of terrorism. She had read that while going over the reports only a few hours ago. Maybe that idea wasn’t too bad after all.

She risked a quick glance at her fellow recruits. Robert mostly seemed confused. He had obviously not yet connected the dots like Amy had. The same could not be said for Julius. He had that dismissive scowl on his face again, telling everyone with eyes to see that he wholly disapproved of what was going on here. Now that was not a big surprise. Julius’s family had not been actively involved with Voldemort and the Death Eaters in the last war, but they had not been exactly opposing his regime either. The Burkes did not like Muggles and would like nothing better than not having to deal with them ever again.

She was not really listening to the boss’s conversation anymore until Robert urgently tapped her shoulder, making her realise that the conversation inside had ended and that Auror Weasley was likely to emerge from said office any moment now. The guys had already pulled back their own Extendable Ears and Amy quickly followed their example, stuffing the forbidden object in the pocket of her robes. It would not do to be seen carrying that around in this place, not if she wanted to remain employed here.

She quickly turned to a sheaf of parchment that was lying on a desk behind her and pretended to be studying it. Robert was doing something similar while Julius had perched himself on a desk, reading a book on Charms with every appearance of boredom. It would seem that was his default setting.

The door opened and Auror Weasley came out. There was an amused smile on his face as he caught sight of the three of them, giving Amy the impression that he might know exactly what they had just done – not a feeling Amy particularly liked. But he didn’t say anything about it, even if her suspicions were true.  He just waved them into the office before he walked away.

The mystery of the conversation she had heard had temporarily made the nerves subside, but they came back in full force now that she realised she was about to hear if she was allowed to remain here as an aspiring Auror. Her stomach was doing strange things and she felt like throwing up, but that would surely ruin any chance she still had, so she told herself not to be such a baby and get on with it.

Amy was the last to enter, so she closed the door and then positioned herself between Robert and Julius, the way she had done the previous day. It was just a precaution, because she did not really think they would forget themselves and get into a fight right under their boss’s nose, but she would not exactly put it past them either. After all, these were the guys that had messed up an entire operation because of a silly prank involving itching powder. It would be just like them to do such a stupid thing again.

Harry Potter was seated behind his desk, studying the three of them intently from behind his spectacles. He wasn’t speaking yet and the silence dragged on so long Amy started feeling more uncomfortable by the second. This could not possibly bode well.

In the end she decided to end it herself. ‘You wanted to see us, sir?’ She kept her eyes firmly on the coffee cup on the desk. She didn’t dare meet her boss’s eyes right now. Amy wasn’t sure she wanted to see what he thought right now.

‘I did.’ The tone was so neutral that it could mean anything really. There was no way she could make anything of it. ‘I will start with the good news first: none of you will get the sack for this unfortunate incident.’

The sigh of relief that escaped her was one that she could not for the life of her bite back, even if she had wanted to. She was not getting sacked, she would be allowed to stay! The nerves that seemed to have taken up residence in her stomach, making her feel nauseous, disappeared right away, leaving only relief. ‘Thank you, sir.’ The words may be cold and formal in and out of itself, but Amy meant them from the bottom of her heart and she hoped she managed to convey that gratitude well enough.

Her fellow recruits mumbled their thanks as well, even though Julius did it with that air of boredom, as if he had expected nothing else. In Amy’s opinion that made him rather arrogant. There had been every chance of all three of them getting sacked and he was standing here as bold as brass, like that had never been an option at all.

Mr Potter raised his hand. ‘There are conditions,’ he told them. Amy did not like that word at all. ‘All three of you have the magical skills needed to become Aurors. You are however severely lacking in other skills that are essential to any Auror.’

Amy looked down in shame. She knew that he was speaking the truth, no matter how much she disliked that notion. The point was that Auror training did focus mostly on the magical skills one needed. Amy had learned more spells and magical tricks than she could have imagined even existed since she first started here, but there had not been many other skills she had learned so far. At first she had dismissed the idea, telling herself that this would be something they would learn later. Maybe they would want to make sure they could handle the magic before they moved on to other skills.

Later she learned that this was just another prime example of wizardry arrogance. They valued their magic above all else and apparently did not think that any other skills were worth the time it took them to learn, because their magic could usually deal with these things faster and more efficiently than the Muggle ways ever could. It frustrated the Muggle-born witch to absolutely no end, but there was nothing she could do to change it.

‘And to that end you will temporary join the ranks of Section D of MI-5 as of tomorrow,’ Harry Potter went on when no reply of the recruits seemed to be forthcoming. ‘They have agreed to take you under their wing to teach you the Muggle way of spying.’

There was a short silence, but then Julius exploded. ‘You cannot be serious, sir!’ He was bristling with rage, hardly surprising since he didn’t seem to be thinking much of Muggles at all. This must be something of a nightmare for him, Amy supposed, but she could not care less.

Her thoughts were running wild. She would readily admit that this was the last thing she’d expected, but after the initial shock, she could hardly stop herself from smiling. This was not a punishment, but rather an answer to her prayers. She’d been dying to learn things like that and now she was being offered the chance. Or well, this wasn’t really an offer, it was a punishment, but to Amy it felt like an opportunity to learn things and she was a true Ravenclaw in that respect: she always wanted to know more.

‘It is either this or be forced to leave headquarters,’ Mr Potter said sternly, making it quite clear that they did not have a choice in this.

Now that made him back down rather quickly. ‘For how long will this be?’ he demanded, but it was a defeat all the same.

‘Until you have acquired enough skills to come back here,’ the boss pointed out. ‘It will largely depend on your own efforts, Mr Burke.’

Julius looked like he had been forced to eat dung, but he gave a curt nod in acknowledgement, sending glowers at the carpet.

‘What will we be expected to do there, sir?’ Amy asked. She recalled overhearing Auror Weasley and the boss about asking MI-5 to help on the Manchester debacle and she could not escape the notion that this somehow had something to do with that as well.

And the answer confirmed that theory for her. ‘You will help the officers of MI-5 in finding and catching the Muggle terrorists involved with the Manchester debacle, Miss Hamilton. The Minister has decided that you will be liaison officers. Trying to catch the renegade suspects will be a joined operation and the three of you will be necessary to keep the channels of communication between the Ministry and MI-5 open. I do therefore expect you to take this as serious as you can.’ He sent all three of them as stern a look as he could manage.

Amy nodded fervently. The guys did so too, albeit a little less enthusiastic. Robert, although his mother was a Muggle herself, preferred the magical community over the Muggle one and he visibly took this as the punishment it was. Julius reacted in a similar fashion, although even less enthusiastic than his rival. They were only prepared to put up with this because they would lose the job otherwise.

‘We understand, sir,’ Robert said, his face predicting storm for the next few weeks. ‘Are we dismissed now?’

Harry Potter looked very amused. ‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘There’s one more thing you should know. When you join Section D, there will be no wands allowed.’

The silence that followed that announcement was deafening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m trying out different point of views with this story, so I hope you enjoy it all. Next time: Harry Pearce breaks the news to his team. Until then comments will be very much appreciated.


	4. Harry Pearce II

The atmosphere in the meeting room was tense. There was just no other word for it. Harry Pearce was fully aware that most members of his team were either in some kind of shock or wholly convinced that he had lost his wits and should benefit enormously from a visit to the shrinks. He could hardly blame them for such a reaction. His own response to hearing that there actually was such a thing as magic had not been better.

The silence was starting to get uncomfortable after a minute or so and Harry actually had to work hard to remain as composed as he had been before, keeping up the image of the decisive leader of this team, who knew exactly what he was doing, even if the members of said team obviously seemed to doubt that.

The reactions were rather mixed. Adam was composed, but then, he had already known what was going on. Harry had not expected any differently. It didn’t mean that his Section Chief suddenly liked the development. He was on edge and uncomfortable, although he did do a good job of hiding it. He had been protesting the deal that had been made for the duration of the drive back to Thames House, but he would back Harry up in this meeting, of that he was sure. After all, it wasn’t like they had a whole lot of other options.

Malcolm was surprised, but not at the mention of wizards, Harry wagered. The elderly technician had been there during the last war those wizards had fought and back in the day all of the team had known. No, his surprise would be the result of them asking for MI-5’s help again when they had not been known to be too overly anxious about doing so before.

The others were mostly giving him incredulous looks, although Ros accompanied hers with an angry stare that would have sent less brave men running for the hills without a second thought. She was still mad at him for not being able to reduce her father’s prison sentence and if he understood her at all, it would take quite some time for that anger to wear off. But she was a good officer, very good at her job, and that was what she was here for.

‘What do they want this time?’ Malcolm inquired politely, slightly puzzled.

That got him Ros’s attention. ‘You bloody well knew about this?’ she snapped.

The technician nodded. ‘During the war they fought in the nineties, we would sometimes be asked to assist with certain matters. We all knew back then.’ There was an underlying tone of sadness, because only Harry and Malcolm were left of the team that had been aware of the wizards’ existence. It was one of the downsides of this job. Not only were you in the line of fire yourself, your colleagues were as well and there were always casualties, one way or the other.

Ros did not appear very pleased with the answer at all, but she settled for a nod. ‘So, what do they want?’ The question was directed at Harry. ‘Can’t they just wave their magic sticks around and solve their sodding mess themselves?’

Harry wished he could answer to that with a yes, but unfortunately things were never that simple. A lifetime in the Service had taught him that some things just never were and when one dealt with the magical community of Britain, simplicity simply did not come into it.

He was beaten to it by Ruth. ‘I think this might be about the Manchester debacle,’ she said, giving her boss an inquisitive glance.

Harry’s head swivelled in her direction. There weren’t many occasions when the head of Section D found himself lost for words, but this was one such moment. He did not suffer from amnesia and last he checked only Adam and Harry himself had been aware that there even was a Manchester debacle. He weighed the chances of Ruth snatching the file off his desk while he wasn’t watching, but dismissed the notion almost right away. The intelligence analyst was not the type for such behaviour.

‘Enlighten me please, Ruth,’ he said in as pleasant a voice as he could manage. The Home Secretary could have told her that this tone was never followed by something good. ‘How is it possible that you are aware of the Manchester debacle?’ Several of his officers were clearly on the verge of asking what the Manchester debacle even was, but they kept their silence for now and Harry was grateful for it.

Ruth blushed a little. ‘Even wizards use the phone, or even the mail, every now and then,’ she pointed out. ‘There was an old contact of mine at GCHQ who knows some of their people and I just sent in a request for information when I first learned of it.’ The analyst’s cheeks were bright crimson and her eyes were fixed on the sheaf of papers in front of her, but she sounded a bit pleased with herself all the same.

And Harry could not really fault her for that. It was an impressive feat. Not many people could have pulled it off. At the same time it was a bit frightening how easily they could get access to sensitive information from the secret magical community. Did wizards have no common sense at all? Were they not aware how easy it was for Muggles – a word that the head of Section D was not particularly fond of since it always conjured up the image of a stupid incapable people, no doubt what some wizards thought about the non-magical community – to hack into mail and phone records? He should bring it to Kingsley’s attention the next time they met, or they could kiss their precious Statute of Secrecy goodbye, thanks to their own carelessness.

Nevertheless, Ruth had done something impressive. He sighed in exasperation. ‘Ruth, is there any institution in this country that’s safe from you?’

This earned him a smug smile, even if the owner of said smile was blushing still. ‘I’d like to think not.’

Well, it would certainly appear that nothing was safe from her, not even the biggest secret in the country. He might as well accept that and save himself the trouble of trying to forbid her to find out more. The more information they could get before his floor would be invaded by a bunch of wannabe Aurors, the better it was. Kingsley was a decent kind of man, but Harry did not believe for one second that he had given them all the intelligence they had on the case. They hadn’t waited four weeks to inform them for no reason. Had the issue with the problematic recruits not come up, Harry doubted they’d have heard at all. He supposed he should be grateful. As it was, he was mostly annoyed.

‘Then maybe you can tell us all that you’ve learned so far?’ he invited her. Ruth was good at these briefings. She was thorough, well-prepared and enthusiastic. And Harry would like to hear what exactly she had learned.

That took her by surprise and she seemed to have trouble forming a coherent sentence for a while, but then she got up and got started. ‘Well, the Manchester debacle refers to a botched-up operation of the wizarding equivalent of MI-5,’ she said. ‘They were chasing an unnamed group of terrorists and dark wizards that had been responsible for blowing up streets in York, Liverpool, Bath and Oxford.’

Zaf looked a bit puzzled. ‘Wouldn’t we have heard about it then?’

Ruth shot him an apologetic smile. ‘The Ministry of Magic wiped the memories of the witnesses and put out word that it was the result of gas explosions.’ He started to wonder how she had learned all this and he made a mental note to ask as soon as he had the chance. He had not even known that, so how could Ruth have found out?

Most people around this table were none too pleased with hearing that and Harry understood. He had not exactly been doing a happy dance around the room either when he had first heard that wizards could meddle with people’s memories.

‘Charming,’ Ros commented under her breath.

Ruth pretended she had not heard that. ‘The wizards eventually tracked them to Manchester four weeks ago,’ she continued. ‘It came to a fight and eventually the dark wizards and terrorists were captured, but there were some buildings damaged and a lot of people had seen it. The wizards had quite a lot of trouble covering it all up.’

Well, at least they had done a good job of that, because MI-5 had never as much as heard of anything gone belly-up. True, Harry had heard that some things had not gone “quiet according to plan, so there will have to be some memories that need modifying,” which was the polite way of saying that some people’s memories needed to be erased. The word debacle had been used for a reason.

Harry took over at this point. ‘It would seem however that the wizards have missed out on some of their renegade suspects, including a few of our own. True to expectations, we had not been informed of this minor hiccup until this morning. And, as it would seem, they are quite incapable of locating and capturing their suspects themselves. And that’s where we come in.’ Unfortunately. Kingsley’s proposal of a joined operation sounded innocent enough, but the trouble with wizards was that they always wanted to run the show, thinking that they somehow knew better how things were to be done, even when it was painfully obvious that they did not have a clue as to what they were doing.

Jo shook her head in confusion. ‘What is it they want us to do then?’

Harry took a deep breath. He may not like this turn of events, but he would have to deal with them all the same. ‘This is going to be a joined operation,’ he announced. That was a novelty, even to him. Even during the war they had worked separately most of the time. Sharing information was as far as the cooperation went. ‘And to that end we will be joined by three of their aspiring Aurors. I am being informed that they will be functioning as liaison officers, passing information between our two respective departments. While they are here, they are under our responsibility and I would ask you to treat them as team members.’ _Lest we bring some sodding wizard’s wrath down on us._

The scowl on Ros’s face seemed to have taken up permanent residence there. ‘Why _aspiring_ Aurors?’ she demanded. ‘And what the bloody hell are Aurors anyway?’

‘Dark wizard catchers,’ Ruth provided absent-mindedly, bent over some of her papers.

Harry should not have been surprised that she knew this, he told himself, yet he was. How had she figured all this out on her own?

‘Then why are they not sending fully trained ones?’ Zaf too clearly did not get it yet.

So far the team had not been really protesting and the head of the section suspected they were still not quite used to the idea, a little in shock even. Well, it would doubtlessly wear off soon enough. Now that was something he did not find himself looking forward to.

‘Officially?’ Harry asked wearily. ‘Because they can’t spare any of their other people, because they’re too busy trying to catch as many of their own suspects without our help and they don’t think that’s necessary anyway when their only job is to pass on information.’ If only that was the reason they were getting magical company, he thought wistfully.

‘And unofficially?’ Malcolm probed.

‘The three we’re getting are so hopeless at any normal spying that their boss thinks they would benefit from the experience they might get here,’ he replied. ‘We have been asked to see to it that they do learn some useful skills while they are staying here, if, of course, we can spare the time for it.’ They would probably have to make the time for it, no matter how much he disliked the notion.

The silence in the meeting room was one of the loudest Harry had heard in his entire life, and that was saying something. The team seemed temporarily shocked into silence at this very unusual request. Section D was clearly torn between wanting to laugh in his face at the absurdity of it and wanting to slap it for agreeing to something so bizarre. He could not even blame them for it. He too thought it beyond ridiculous, but he had not exactly had a choice in the matter.

Of course it was Ros who broke the silence first, a look on her face that could have turned milk sour in a matter of seconds. ‘So, let me get this straight: we’re supposed to show some wand-waving weirdoes how to do _our_ job?’ While spoken with her usual lack of tact, this was the essence of the entire plan, as much as Harry hated the notion. He had a section to run and could do without the whole business of bringing wizards in, and pretty hopeless ones at that.

Adam sent his colleague a warning glance. ‘Ros…’

But Harry shook his head. ‘Yes, that is about the size of it,’ he said. He may not like Ros’s manners, but he appreciated her sometimes brutal honesty, to get straight to the point without beating around the bush for hours.

His answer however did nothing to pacify her. ‘Well, then you have just lost your bloody mind.’ The Senior Case Officer was bristling with rage.

The newest addition to the team had no reservations when it came to voicing her opinions. Harry knew most of the team wasn’t incredibly fond of Ros Myers – she was a difficult woman to like after all – and that razor-sharp tongue of hers. He had overheard her saying to Jo not that long ago that “if I’d wanted a job where everybody loved me, I’d have become a vet.” And true to her word she wasn’t trying very hard to be liked. Sometimes Harry would almost be tempted into believing that she did whatever she could to make her colleagues’ lives as difficult as she possibly could, especially since she had learned that Harry had not been able to reduce her father’s sentence, another thing that didn’t exactly warm the team to the idea of having Miss Myers around.

Yet for all her anger and resentment she was the best officer he had on the Grid since Tom Quinn. Adam was very good at his job as well, but at the moment he was still too affected by his wife’s death to function as he had before that tragedy had happened. Truly, Harry did not doubt that it would be this Ice Queen who would end up tutoring the magical additions to Section D, or the wand-waving weirdoes, as she had so eloquently called them.

‘This is non-negotiable,’ he told her. ‘Believe me, I’m not doing a happy dance around the room for this myself.’

Zaf cracked a smile. ‘I’m sure we would all like to see that happening, Harry.’

The tension lifted somewhat as the others started to chuckle. And maybe that was what they all needed here before things had the chance to become depressing or uncomfortable any further. If he could he would have told Kingsley to stick this suggestion where the sun didn’t shine, but he couldn’t. He owed the man a favour and the issue of the terrorists and Death Eaters still on the loose was a far more pressing matter than a few Auror recruits with discipline issues.

He sent the officer a wry look. ‘While these aspiring Aurors are here, they are not allowed to use any magic,’ he went on as if his announcement had never been interrupted in the first place.

‘Why not?’ Jo asked. ‘Surely it would…’

‘The use of magic upsets the electricity,’ Ruth explained before the junior officer had been able to finish her question. ‘Our computers would stop working if magic was performed next to them.’ She caught a few incredulous glances and shrugged. ‘There was an email intercepted not long ago from some Magical Law Enforcement man to some kind of Muggle Relations Helpdesk, complaining that his Muggle television stopped working after he had performed some charm on it.’ The way she said it she made it sound like it had been no trouble at all finding that out. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn’t. What did surprise him was that wizards were apparently – and finally – adapting to the modern age. And about time too. Maybe he should tell Kingsley to get a computer and stop sending notes appearing out of nowhere on his desk.

‘Thank you, Ruth,’ he said, the smallest hint of sarcasm in his voice. ‘Our new recruits will join us as of tomorrow morning. In the meantime I’d like you all to get fully up to speed on the Manchester debacle. Any useful insights, square them with Adam.’

The meeting room started emptying out. Harry himself felt like he was in need of a good whisky to take the rough edges off today, but he needed to stay sharp for a little longer. There were some important phone calls he still needed to make and he would need a clear head for that.

Ruth was still in the room as well, collecting all the files and papers that had been lying before her. Wherever the intelligence analyst went, paperwork followed in her wake. Her desk was neat and clean, but inevitably there were all kinds of papers and books to be found.

Well, he did have her on her own now, he might as well ask what he had wanted to ask since she first blurted out that explanation of hers. ‘Ruth, as a matter of interest, how did you learn about the Manchester debacle, or wizards for that matter?’

The smug smile was firmly back in place now. ‘Well, wizards do use the phone and mail occasionally,’ she reminded him.

‘I was becoming aware of the fact,’ Harry shot back rather wryly.

‘Well, one of the Aurors, someone called Ronald Weasley, is learning how to use a computer and to that end he is making most of his reports by mail these days.’ The analyst shrugged again. ‘I took an interest.’ Suddenly she appeared nervous. ‘I should have reported it, I know, but I thought…’

‘You thought I might think you insane,’ Harry finished smoothly. It was rather understandable, so he would not hold it against her. ‘I would have done the same. No need to worry, Ruth.’

She flashed him a quick smile, but she was still not entirely reassured. ‘Still, it was unauthorised…’

‘Keep doing it,’ Harry ordered. ‘I’m sure they’re not telling us everything they know. Keep digging.’

She nodded, the nerves gone now, back in her element. ‘Any disturbing things I find?’

‘Report to me.’ Adam had enough on his plate as it was. And Harry was more suited to deal with any wizarding messes than the Section Chief, having dealt with the sorry lot for years. And for once it would be nice to have some advantage over his magical allies. Heaven knew they had little enough as it was already.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: wizards arriving at Thames House. In the meantime a comment would be welcome. I'd like to know what you think so far.


	5. Robert West

Thames House was an impressive building, Robert had to admit. It still didn’t make him like this punishment any better. To be forced to work with Muggles instead of being in the Ministry of Magic doing something to catch the really dangerous people, that felt like a waste of time to him. Muggle terrorists could do a lot of damage, but never as much as the magical ones. And, no offence to anyone, MI-5 could deal with their terrorists and the Aurors could deal with the magical suspects. That was the way it had always been and there was no real need to change it, in Robert’s opinion.

He knew his attitude was probably not very worthy of a wizard whose own mother was a Muggle, but Robert told himself he didn’t dislike Muggles. He just didn’t think their society was as developed as the magical one, but since they did not have magic at their disposal, they could hardly help it. And it had certain advantages when one had a little Muggle heritage to fall back on. He at least wasn’t likely to make a fool out of himself in front of the spies he was about to meet, so very unlike Burke.

The pure-blood was highly uncomfortable. He had been forced to hand over his wand approximately an hour ago and was visibly ill at ease without it. Add to that the fact that he had been forced to dress in the Muggle fashion and that did make for one very jumpy Auror recruit, something Robert secretly rather enjoyed. Lately the other male recruit to the team had messed up one operation after the other, trying to put the blame on Robert and he had just about enough of it. It would be good to see him a bit humiliated and uncomfortable for a change. Just because he was pure-blood – or as pure as a wizard’s blood could be these days – didn’t mean he could get away with everything, as he clearly seemed to be thinking.

Having said that, he wasn’t entirely at ease himself. His parents had made him spend time in the Muggle world, so it wasn’t entirely alien to him, but the last few years had mostly been spent in the wizarding society, because of his education at Hogwarts and because he liked it better there. The Muggle world was a little strange to him now and he felt even more uncomfortable now he was forced to face it without his wand.

Their wands had been confiscated an hour ago by Mr Potter. At first he had thought he would get it back by the end of each day, but clearly that was a mistake. They were supposed to live without magic for the duration of this punishment and to that end they had been assigned a Muggle flat for them to live while they worked with MI-5. They would have to live in the same apartment, all three of them, and they would have to make do without magic. In Robert’s opinion that were all the ingredients necessary to cook up a disaster of the kind that would have the Manchester debacle seem like a minor blip in comparison.

But he was not going to back out of this, not now. He loved his job and if making nice with Burke and putting up with Muggle spies was what it took to keep it, then that was what he was going to do. And really, how hard was it going to be to ignore his lifelong rival and near-enemy for a few weeks? And he was half a Muggle himself, he could deal with their way of life as well. He had been sorted into Gryffindor for a reason and he was not going to chicken out. He would never hear the end of it.

Harry Potter accompanied them now, since it was their first time here and he needed to sort out some business with a certain Harry Pearce, the man who resembled a bull dog, according to his boss. Not of course that Mr Potter was aware of this and perhaps that was for the best as well. He was unlikely to like the fact that they had spied on what surely could be called private business.

As it was, Amy was the only one who seemed to enjoy this punishment. Robert had seen that expression often enough in their shared classes and it had the tendency to appear when she was excited about something, in this case the joined operation with MI-5. She had dressed in a blouse and knee-length skirt, looking every inch the successful Muggle businesswoman. Nothing gave away that she did not have every right to be here. If he knew her at all she had been looking forward to this. The Ravenclaw had always savoured the chance of learning something new, and this was no exception.

Harry Potter wasted no time in ushering them inside the building, giving them hardly any chance to admire the building at all. Robert let himself be ushered, even if it made him feel like a small child on an excursion. Amy didn’t notice the treatment, but Burke was still displeased with the way things were going. He clearly thought that the demand to identify themselves at the security in the lobby was an insult and he fixed the men with as disapproving a scowl as he could manage. The men failed to be impressed. They simply directed the four of them to a bench to wait until their escort came to collect him. Now that had Burke properly angered. Robert himself did not like it any better, but he knew better than to show it this obviously. Strange really. Normally it was Burke who could control his emotions and Robert who could not.

Amy was visibly unaffected by the way they were treated. ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’ she asked, eyes gleaming. She was clearly enjoying every minute of this, even if her companions were not.

Robert forced his face into a matching smile, banishing his unease to the back of his mind. ‘Indeed,’ he agreed. He may not like being here, but at least so far he was doing better than his male colleague, who was downright jumpy in this building packed with Muggles, without his wand to help him. He gave the, probably very accurate, impression of wanting to run and never come back. If Robert’s assumptions were correct, then Burke had never really dealt with Muggles before and in that case this wasn’t his best way to start his acquaintance with them. It was actually rather funny to see and it had the added bonus that it made Robert feel a little better about himself.

The spies that were supposed to collect them – a word the Gryffindor thoroughly disapproved of, because it made him feel like an useless object instead of an asset to this operation – took their own sweet time in showing up. He thought they had been waiting for almost fifteen minutes before a woman with brown hair and dressed in a long skirt came down to meet them. She smiled warmly at them, for some reason reminding Robert of his own mother, who had a smile like that as well.

‘You must be our new colleagues,’ she said by way of a greeting. ‘I’m sorry it took so long. We had some emergencies to deal with, as I am sure you can understand.’

As if they could say something else, the Gryffindor thought wryly.

The woman extended her hand to Mr Potter. ‘I’m Ruth Evershed, senior intelligence analyst in Section D.’

It meant absolutely nothing to Robert. And that didn’t bode very well, he supposed. If he was ignorant of these simple things, he dreaded to think what would happen when the more difficult Muggle matters were put to him. He now had to come to the very unpleasant conclusion that he didn’t know as much about Muggles as he had allowed himself to think. But he was a Gryffindor and they were known for their courage. He was not about to let this affect him. He could handle this, no problem.

They followed Ruth Evershed into the building. The Muggle technology was nothing new to him and that was a relief. At least he would not make himself look like a total idiot, as he had been half afraid of doing, not that he had shared this concern with anyone. His boss was talking with the Muggle spy lady in a hushed voice. Robert didn’t like it, but there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it and Extendable Ears would in this case not do him any favours either. He would have to make do without them, and without magic in general, for the next few weeks. That was a thought that made him uncomfortable, but he liked his job and he would not risk getting kicked out because he refused to comply with the punishment he had been given, even if he did not deserve it. But it had been no good telling his boss that, so he would have to go along with this and hope that it would be over soon.

The spy’s work floor was a surprise, which was strange, because Robert had not at all known what to expect. The place was practically packed with computer equipment that produced something of a constant buzzing noise. People were working behind them, hardly sparing them a glance at all. Or at least they didn’t look at the new arrivals when said arrivals could see it. Robert had the very unpleasant feeling that everyone was looking at them when their back was turned, like they were the monkeys in the zoo that people could look at to be amused.

‘Welcome to the inner sanctum,’ Ruth said. She was still smiling in a very friendly manner, but Robert did detect some sarcasm underneath it. For some reason he thought that the spies of Section D were just as happy with the whole arrangement as the victims of said arrangement. A look around the room confirmed this theory. A woman with blonde hair and green eyes, who was leaning against a desk nearby, did not even take the trouble to hide her disgust. An Asian looking man next to her seemed rather amused. He made some remark to the woman, who remained absolutely stoic and unmoved while the man started to laugh at what appeared to be his own joke.

Amy was looking like a kid that has gotten permission to take whatever they liked in the world’s biggest candy store. She was entirely too enthusiastic about the prospect of spending the next few weeks working in this building. Next to her Burke was looking all kinds of jumpy, staring at the Muggle equipment as if it were dangerous monsters that were about to bite his hand off. He had never taken Muggle Studies and he had never been in touch with any actual Muggles or their technology and he was visibly uneasy with it all. Robert and Amy at least had Muggle backgrounds. They knew about computers and phones. Burke didn’t.

‘Mr Potter.’ A short man in a crisp Muggle suit and tie came walking at them. He had a very determined expression on his face, even when the smile on that face was nice enough. Robert still suspected him of being on the warpath though. There was something in his bearing that made it somehow seem like a safe option to look for cover.

His mind provided him with the name Harry Pearce, the one Mr Potter had said vaguely resembled a bull dog. And he did, maybe not in looks, but definitely in his behaviour. It was actually an interesting thing to see. Harry Pearce was the kind of man who one could acknowledge as a leader. He may not be very tall, but he was clearly used to his orders being obeyed.

‘Mr Potter, would you follow me to my office for a moment?’ The spies’ boss sounded pleasant enough, but it was clear from the way he spoke that this was not a request, but just an order in disguise. When he saw Mr Potter’s look at his recruits, he added: ‘My team will be more than capable of dealing with your officers, I assure you.’ It sounded more like they were going to have them for lunch rather than that it meant that his team would take good care of them. The blonde woman’s disdainful look only seemed to confirm that theory.

Harry Potter nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said, indeed following the Muggle spy like an obedient puppy. Robert didn’t think he could blame his boss for behaving like that. Harry Pearce inspired obedience in some way, even if he did not have a wand to force people into doing his bidding.

‘So, who are you then?’ the man that stood next to the blonde woman asked. He sounded a little amused, almost as if he wasn’t taking this entire operation as seriously as they did. He behaved as if this was just one big joke to him. Robert grinned wryly. If only it was.

Amy was still enraptured by everything around her and Julius was still warily eyeing the room. He shook the man’s hand. ‘Robert West,’ he introduced himself. ‘These are my colleagues Amy Hamilton and Julius Burke.’

He was rewarded with a smile and a firm handshake for his troubles. ‘Zafar Younis,’ he announced. ‘And these are my colleagues: Ros Myers,’ he beckoned to the woman with the disapproving stare, ‘Adam Carter, our Section Chief,’ a man with blond hair and a not much happier look than his female colleague, ‘Jo Portman,’ a smiling woman with short blonde hair, ‘and Malcolm…’ His voice trailed off as he looked around the room to find the man. ‘He’s probably in the tech suite somewhere. Well, and Harry and Ruth you’ve already met.’

Zafar Younis seemed the nicest man in this place so far, not that that was a very difficult thing to achieve, Robert remarked to himself. The others practically radiated hostility, especially the woman who had been identified as Ros Myers. He normally was the easy-going guy at headquarters, but for now he decided to keep quiet, sit back and wait it out. It wasn’t very like him, but there had been times at Hogwarts when it had been wiser to keep his head down for a while, so he knew how to do it. And without his wand in his pocket it did not seem like a particularly good plan to provoke these people. He did want to have a job to go back to and he wasn’t exactly anxious to pick a fight with these spies.

‘Pleasure to meet you.’ When Amy said it, she meant it. She truly liked being here and Robert found himself wishing for a little bit of her enthusiasm.

If only he could look at this assignment as an opportunity and not as a punishment, things would doubtlessly be a little easier. If his mother were here, she’d say that it was a question of his own thoughts about this. He could learn to like this, with some time. And if these spies started to act a little nicer than they had so far. Right now the tension was making the air almost literally crackle.

And things only got from bad to worse when Zafar proceeded to shake Burke’s hand. The pure-blood shot one look at the offered hand and then demonstratively did a step back. Zafar frowned, confused, not knowing what this meant.

But Robert did. He did know what this meant and it made his blood boil. He knew that Burke’s family had been fairly neutral – or as neutral as anyone could have been – during the last war, but it was no secret that his family was none too fond of Muggles. That alone was enough to set Robert’s teeth on edge. He had been only a boy during the war, but he was old enough to remember what this way of thinking had caused back then. Because his father had married a Muggle woman, he and his family were not very welcome in the wizarding society. After Robert’s uncle had been killed, Robert’s father had gone as far as to give up his job and go with his wife and three children into hiding in Germany until the war had ended. And now Julius Burke was demonstrating an attitude that would have befitted a Death Eater.

And he acted before he thought. ‘Are you sure you’re not in league with the Death Eaters, Burke?’ he snapped. ‘Because you behaved just like them just now.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, West.’ Burke was on his best dismissive behaviour, scowling at him.

It took Robert all the self-restraint that he had not to jump in and teach this arrogant man some manners. His uncle had died and he himself had spent a whole year in hiding because of people who thought like this. And Robert was in no way naïve. He knew there were still people out there who had views like that. It was one of the reasons why he had decided to become an Auror once he had left Hogwarts. Muggle-haters were the kind of people he hunted down to send them to Azkaban, but never in all his life had he imagined that one of those people would be his colleague.

Of course he had known that the Slytherin recruit was not very fond of Muggles – very few pure-blood families were – but he had not realised how strong his prejudice against them was. It had never shown when they were still in school, but maybe he had just known when to hide it, because he knew the teachers would not look kindly on it. Now however there were no teachers to hold him back.

‘Didn’t Death Eaters hate non-magical people?’ he could hear the youngest woman – Jo? – whisper under her breath.

‘And magical people who had non-magical ancestry,’ Ruth replied. ‘They believed that Muggles, as they call us, are some kind of inferior beings and that the wizards were meant to rule over them.’

How the woman had learned that was an interesting question, but right now no concern of Robert’s. He still needed to force himself not to leave this spot, because if he did, he could not guarantee that he didn’t jump at Julius to teach him some manners in true Muggle style. He clearly was in need of them.

Ros Myers snorted. ‘Well, isn’t that just bloody brilliant?’ she asked sarcastically. She turned towards Zafar, who was still trying to determine what to do with this entire situation. ‘So, if I were you I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Zaf.’ She sounded bored, Robert decided, even if he could not for the life of him figure out why she would look at it that way. But when she continued, the Gryffindor started to understand what she was doing. ‘We’re just at the bottom of the food chain for these people. Yet somehow they can’t seem to manage without us holding their hands, so do anything like that again, Caesar, and you’ll be looking for another job.’ The last was directed at Julius Burke, who met her indifferent stare with a haughty one of his own.

‘I don’t need to listen to you, Muggle,’ he snarled.

‘Nope, you don’t,’ Ros agreed. She didn’t seem affected by his behaviour at all. ‘But I would advise you to listen nonetheless. Because you see, if you don’t, I’ll just make a report to my boss that you are unfit to continue your stay with us. And I can and I will make such a report, because, congratulations, you’ll be working with me.’ The female spy seemed in no way happy about the prospect, but she did seem like the type who could handle Robert’s rival far better than he could ever hope to.

All in all, he didn’t think Ros Myers was very fond of any of them – her remark proved that – but Robert couldn’t really care about that right now. It was all worth it if this meant he got the satisfaction of seeing Julius Burke finally being taken down a couple of pegs. Maybe, he thought, smiling, as he looked at Burke’s shocked face, this assignment wasn’t as he had first thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might be a little later than usual because of a very busy real life, but I’ll try to update in time. In the meantime, please comment? What did you like, what did you dislike? I can’t improve without feedback!


	6. Ros Myers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers. Here’s the new chapter. Just a warning, I’m making up some “historical” events in this for the story’s sake.  
> Enjoy!

Ros Myers glanced around the meeting room, trying and quite possibly failing to keep the dismissive scowl off her face. She had not made it a secret that she greatly disliked the fact that MI-5 was now supposed to be working together with a bunch of wizards who were clearly unable to sort out their own mess.

She could barely bite back the snort that threatened to escape her at the mention of magic and wizards. Had someone told her this last week, she would have sent them to the shrinks without as much as a second thought. Yet here they were, sharing the Grid with three young magical people, minus their wands. And the way things were looking now, they were stuck with them for the next few weeks, at least until they could clear up the mess the wizards had made in Manchester four weeks ago.

Maybe that was what vexed her most, the fact that they had not been aware of the danger to national security at all. The wizards had deliberately kept them in the dark, trying to keep them from finding out that they had just made a total mess of things, all because of some Statute of Secrecy that was hopelessly outdated. Ros, as a spy, was used to being well-informed. And it bothered her that she knew next to nothing about wizards, so she had stayed the night on the Grid, “borrowing” everything Ruth had found thus far, so that at least she knew what she was bloody well up against.

Apparently their liaison officers didn’t seem to be the brightest stars in the universe, especially the male ones. Robert West and Julius Burke appeared to be enemies rather than colleagues, the only thing preventing them from having a go at each other the young woman who seemed both eager and incredibly nervous.

In more ways than one Amy Hamilton reminded the Senior Case Officer of Ruth. Both of them were intelligent and eager to gain more knowledge about every subject in existence. They would probably get along spectacularly, so maybe it was a good thing Harry had ordered them to work together for the duration of the operation, Ros pondered. Between them they would be able to dig up every last piece of information there was to find about their suspects. They might also drive every officer in Thames House to distraction with their little lectures. Ros appreciated the fact that Ruth could do her job so well – even if that was simply what she was paid to do here – but it was wholly unnecessary to flaunt that acquired knowledge the way Ruth tended to do.

Robert West, although a little uncomfortable here, had the same easy charm as Zaf, with whom he would be working during this operation. Right now he was smiling reassuringly at his female colleague – although it looked more like flirting to the Senior Case Officer’s eyes – pretending to be completely at ease here, but no one missed out on his startled look when Adam’s phone began to ring. He might prove to be a good field officer eventually, but his obvious temper worked against him. He had been all too quick to anger when he heard something he didn’t like, like he had just now. That was an unforgiveable trait in a spy. They needed to keep their heads and stay calm under impossible circumstances and this boy still had a very long way to go if he wanted to get there. But he might just work out, given some time.

If only the same could be said about her own protégé. Julius Burke had in the half hour he had been here demonstrated an appalling lack of manners, self-control and tact and Ros was quite sure that she could add lack of common sense and general bloody thick-headedness to the list before the day was out. The wizard had already shown that he had no love whatsoever for non-magic people, Muggles as the wizards called them, which somehow sounded like an insult to her. Not that she cared about these people’s good opinions, but it would make working with them rather difficult. And the fact remained that she had to mentor – stupid word – this one for the time being and she did not at all look forward to that.

She had of course been trying to protest the notion of acting like a glorified babysitter for a bunch of sodding hocus-pocus-muttering weirdoes, but her attempts had been in vain. Pairing up wizards with a technician would doubtlessly end in disaster, which ruled out Malcolm. Getting someone to work with Harry would be wasting both Harry and that person’s time and Adam, as Section Chief, had, just like Harry, too many duties already. That would only leave Jo as a possible mentor and Ros would readily admit that the junior officer could sometimes use a bit of mentoring herself. She was not fit to give it to anyone with all that naivety of hers. Ros doubted she would get far in her chosen career. And since Ruth and Zaf had already taken a wizard to guide, so Ros was the suitable choice for tutoring the last recruit. Oh, joy.

‘Right people.’ Harry took his place at the head of the table. ‘I take it everyone is up to speed on the Manchester debacle?’ He slammed his hand on the file in question to emphasise his point. His face predicted storm for the next couple of weeks and, no matter how much Ros was at odds with her boss at the moment, they seemed to be in absolute agreement over the absurdity of this particular operation.

A few people muttered a dutiful ‘Yes, Harry,’ others only nodded. The temporary additions to the team seemed uncertain of what to do or say, so they simply nodded, save for Julius Caesar, who settled for as dismissive a scowl as he was capable of. That man may be a skilled wizard, but he had no idea what he was doing here. Apart from the fact that he had dressed in – Ros had tried and failed to suppress a bark of laughter when she had first laid eyes on it – jeans with a woman’s blouse – purple – and a silk bathrobe for a jacket, he did just not belong here. She honestly wondered if he had ever been in contact with the non-magic people before now, but she doubted it. He kept shooting glances over his shoulder, eyeing both spooks and machinery warily, as if he was afraid either of those – or both – would come out to swallow him whole.

‘Good,’ Harry said. ‘The Ministry of Magic sent us a list of the people they believe to be involved with this whole mess. Some of them just so happen to be on our own watch list. Ruth, if you please?’

List, what list? Ros had not been aware that there had even been a list. And if her colleagues’ faces were anything to go by, neither had they. Not that she ought to have been surprised by the fact that apparently only Harry and Ruth had seen this particular piece of information. The analyst spent far too much time buttering up to the head of Section D, spending time in his office, joining him for lunch. It really was far too obvious for anyone to miss.

So it was hardly a surprise that Harry called on his little favourite to do the explaining. Apart from that she had seen the list, she would by now probably know everything about their suspects, down to the colour of their favourite underwear. It would be safe to say that she had not left a stone unturned in her little investigation.

Ruth was already standing before Harry had even finished his request. She pointed the remote at the screen that now showed a man’s face. Ros guessed he would be mid-forties. He had straight black hair and rather unnerving grey eyes, glaring at the camera that took the picture as if it had gravely offended him.

‘Andrew Simmons,’ Ruth announced. ‘Born in, ironically, Manchester, twelfth of April 1962. Graduated from Oxford summa cum laude and was predicted to be either the next prime minister or the new top man for a large business cooperation. Instead he dropped off the radar for a few years, only to resurface in Birmingham in March 1987 where he was beating African and Asian youths into the nearest hospital.’ Her tone was boiling over with righteous disapproval.

‘Charming,’ Ros commented sarcastically. ‘He’s a bloody loony who hates everyone who is not European in origin then?’

Ruth nodded, narrowing her eyes at the Senior Case Officer’s sarcastic tone. ‘We believe so,’ she said.

 _We being who?_ Ros thought. _Have you and harry already gone over this in his bloody office before sharing it with the rest of us?_

If Ruth had seen her colleague’s filthy look at all, she did not show it. ‘Apparently he had a nasty run-in with some drunken Asian youngsters as a teenager and he has disliked them ever since. He’s also wanted for some other crimes involving punching coloured people half to death and in two cases all the way to death. The strange thing is that he was never suspected of doing anything more dangerous than stirring up riots in middle-large towns’ suburbs.’

‘So what’s he doing running around the country blowing up streets with a bunch of dangerous people?’ It was Adam who asked the million dollar question this time.

Ruth pointed the pen she still had in her hands at Adam’s chest. ‘Exactly,’ she said, as if he was the school boy who had answered the question correctly. ‘We don’t know that yet.’

Harry’s face darkened. ‘Then we’d better find out. Do we have any idea where the bloody hell he is?’

‘Current whereabouts unknown,’ the analyst said apologetically. That answer however had been predictable. In Ros’s experience terrorists were seldom as considerate as to leave their home address lying around for all to see and find. ‘He’s working with this man.’ Ruth pushed a button again and the screen showed a second face. The man that looked at them now was around the same age as Andrew Simmons. He was balding, but what little hair he still had was brown. He had blue eyes and a large moustache. ‘Henry Downs. Born also in Manchester, fifth of June 1962. Attended university with Simmons, but they have been friends since before they could walk and talk. Apparently their parents were neighbours and friends. Downs was also in Birmingham in 1987 and at various other riots, always tailing after Simmons.’

‘Beating up kids together?’ Jo asked incredulously.

When Ruth nodded, Ros commented: ‘That is taking friendship a bit far. Let me guess, we also do not know where he may be hiding out?’

Ruth shook her head, again annoyed with the senior officer’s tone of voice, if that look was anything to go by. ‘He went to jail in the summer of 2000 for beating an African student within an inch of his life, but when he came out in 2004 because of good behaviour he disappeared. He hasn’t been seen since until he resurfaced several months ago when he was blowing up streets with his best friend and the Death Eaters.’

‘And again we have no idea how he went from thug to terrorist?’ Harry checked, although no one in this room had any doubt about the answer.

‘None, Harry.’ Ruth looked as sorry as she could. ‘There is something else, though.’

Harry’s sigh could only be described as exasperated. ‘Is that your middle name, Ruth?’

Ruth blushed, but went on with her lecture all the same. ‘It’s Simmons’s wife,’ she said, pointing the remote at the screen again, this time to reveal a woman’s face with clear green eyes and brown hair tucked away into a neat bun. ‘Phoebe Simmons, nee Holmes. Born in Oxford, twenty-sixth of November 1965. School drop-out, met her husband in the shop she worked in while he was in university. They married in April 1985. There was never any indication that she was in any way involved in her husband’s criminal activities and it was believed that they had split up five years ago, even when they never officially divorced. But she did show up on one of the pictures the Aurors made just before the whole operation went belly-up in Manchester. They didn’t think she was a suspect, just wrong time, wrong place, but if Simmons is her husband…’

‘One coincidence too many,’ Harry agreed. And coincidence was a very dirty word for spooks. It just didn’t exist. ‘Do we know where she lives?’

‘Here in London,’ was the reply. ‘She works at a local supermarket and there’s nothing to indicate that she has behaved strangely lately.’

Harry gave a curt nod. ‘We’ll deal with her. Miss Hamilton, could you enlighten us about the Death Eaters that are still merrily blowing up the streets of Britain?’ There was no small measure of sarcasm in his voice.

Amy Hamilton looked more than a little nervous, reminding Ros of Ruth all the more. Their love of knowledge apparently wasn’t the only trait they shared. Their manners could be remarkably alike as well.

But she seemed to be in her element the moment she stood in front of the screen, rolling out a poster  with a photograph of a man’s face. He looked positively crazy the way he kept rolling his eyes at the audience. Ros had been warned that magical pictures moved, but it was still strange to see and she was clearly not the only one who thought that. Malcolm was intrigued, Jo fascinated and Harry wary. It was all rather predictable.

Amy ignored that. ‘Antonin Dolohov,’ she announced. ‘Studied at Hogwarts and graduated with Outstanding in almost all his NEWTs.’ When she caught some puzzled glances, she added: ‘The highest mark of the highest degree Hogwarts has to offer. He joined the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort shortly after and leaving school and became one of his first supporters. He has a longstanding record of torturing Muggles and Muggle-borns during the First Wizarding War. When Voldemort fell the first time in 1981 he went to Azkaban, the wizard prison, but he escaped when Voldemort broke him out in early 1996, after which he spent the Second Wizarding War torturing more Muggles and Muggle-borns. He was captured at the Battle of Hogwarts in May 1998, but escaped along with several other Death Eaters on the way to Azkaban and has been on the loose ever since. He recently escaped capture again at the Manchester debacle.’

It was all too obvious for Ros that the wannabe Auror modelled her lecture on that of her mentor. The tone of voice was almost identical, as was the stance and the way the information was delivered. And the Senior Case Officer was glad she had read up on wizarding terms in Ruth’s notes, or she would not have been able to follow half of what that girl was saying. Judging by the many blank faces around her, she had been one of the few to do her homework.

Amy either didn’t see their confusion or she ignored it, unrolling a second poster, showing another man. Ros wasn’t easily frightened, and she would never admit this when called on, but she would not like to run into the likes of this man after dark. Something in his eyes was positively evil and that was a concept she didn’t even believe in.

‘Fenrir Greyback,’ Amy clarified with the face of someone who is forced to pick up something very dirty. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘He’s a werewolf…’

At this point she was interrupted by Zaf. ‘Those exist? Weren’t they supposed to be either myths or the heroes in teenage novels these days?’

Ros tried and failed to bite back a snicker.

‘They exist.’ And by the looks of things the witch hated them with a passion. ‘He was bitten as a child. Greyback joined Voldemort during the First Wizarding War, but he was never a Death Eater. He’s a bloodthirsty man who likes nothing better than to bite and kill people when he’s transformed. He specialises in _children_.’ At this point she looked even more disgusted. ‘We think he joined Voldemort because he offered him more prey. He walked free after the First Wizarding War and joined Voldemort again during the Second. At the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998 he was knocked down, but he regained consciousness and fled from the battle when it turned out to go badly for his side. No one has seen him for years, but he’s still making victims every full moon. And, of course, he has been closely connected to the Manchester debacle.’

By the end of that speech Ros understood the girl’s disgust of such a man. His actions were sickening and, what’s more, a clear and obvious danger to national security. ‘Charming,’ she commented again.

‘Please tell me that’s all of them,’ Zaf stage-whispered to Jo.

Amy heard that. ‘There’s one more.’ She unrolled the last poster, showing a thin man with a disapproving scowl that would give Caesar a run for his money. ‘Rabastan Lestrange. Joined the Death Eaters immediately after he had left school and committed more crimes than your average terrorist commits during his entire life in the First Wizarding War, including torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom to insanity with the Cruciatus Curse at the end of it. He was sent to Azkaban, but escaped along with quite a few other dangerous Death Eaters early 1996 and continued his crimes until the Battle of Hogwarts, where he was captured. He escaped on the way to Azkaban along with Dolohov and several others and has been on the run ever since, recently avoiding capture at the Manchester debacle.’

There was a silence after she had finished and the witch retook her seat, clearly nervous. Ruth quickly gave the aspiring Auror an encouraging nod and even Ros would be unable to deny that the girl had done rather well. Why she was here was actually not entirely clear to her. Heaven knew the male Aurors were nothing short of a walking disaster zone, but what the problem with the girl was, that was a mystery. Not that she was about to complain. It might come in handy to have an officer with knowledge of the magical world on the Grid, especially when she was in the possession of some common sense, a department in which her two male colleagues seemed to be sorely lacking.

‘Do we have anything on any of these men’s whereabouts, known associates?’ Adam in the end was the one who took charge, as was his job as Section Chief.

‘Not that we know of,’ Amy replied. She seemed to be doing most of the talking.

As if to rectify that Robert spoke up. ‘Greyback made his most recent attacks up in Scotland, but that doesn’t mean anything. He could just Apparate away in an instant and then there’d be no tracking him.’

The information in itself was useless, but at least it showed that he was willing to help, which was more than could be said for Mr Burke, who had perfected the art of dismissive silence on the other end of the table. It would seem she had ended up with the worst recruit of them all. For a brief second she wondered if Harry had done it on purpose after her verbal explosion last week, but then she realised that he had not known their temporary additions personally, so in this case it was just dumb bad luck.

‘So, what do we do now?’ Jo asked tentatively.

‘That,’ Harry said with another exasperated sigh. ‘That is the question.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it for today. Sorry, it was a lot of talking, but it needed to be done. The plot will start to move forward the next time. That will not be next week, but the week after that. I’ve got some ideas, but I’m still working the plot out and that takes some time. Suggestions would be very welcome, though. And of course I’d love to hear what you think about this chapter. Please comment?


	7. Julius Burke

Julius strongly suspected Mr Potter of informing the Muggles that he was the one most in need of training. There was no other reasonable explanation for the situation he now found himself in. Or otherwise it was just revenge for his minor slip up at the introductions.

‘It has got to be an undercover job,’ Adam had observed after Mr Pearce had finished speaking. From what he had seen so far, Julius would say that he was not the one in charge, but he was only answerable to Harry Pearce, so his opinion carried some weight here.

‘The wife,’ Jo nodded. ‘Do you really think she has stayed in touch with Simmons, if they apparently split up?’

‘She was in Manchester, Jo.’ The Myers woman seemed irritated. ‘At the time of the debacle. She must have a bloody reason to be there. Can be because she’s still in love with Simmons, can be under duress, in which case we might persuade her to work for us.’

Julius didn’t like Muggles, but there was something about the way these people looked at things that was not only very familiar, but also reassuring in a way. Of course he would never be heard to say that out loud, but it was good to know that in some ways Muggle spies and Aurors were not that different. No matter how much Julius disliked being here, a fact he didn’t even bother to hide from these people, there were Death Eaters out there as well. Contrary to popular belief, mostly voiced by West, he wasn’t one of them and neither did he support their goals and methods. Yes, wizards were superior in comparison to Muggles and Muggle-borns, but to kill them because of it was taking things a bit too far. And it made the rest of them look like barbarians. If they were to show their superiority, they had to be above such things.

Jo appeared shocked. ‘We can’t be using her like that, can we?’ She looked at her boss for help.

Naïve, Julius judged, not quite sure what she was even doing in this building if she was so tender-hearted. Muggle or wizard, the job they did required tough decisions and using people to achieve their ends.

‘She’s the only thing we’ve got to go on.’ The spies’ boss slapped down the notion right away. ‘All the others are off the radar. We’ll need to get close to them before they blow up something else and that woman is our way in.’ He stabbed a finger at the woman’s photograph to emphasise his point. ‘And it will have to be an undercover job.’

‘Can’t we just bring her in for questioning?’ Robert asked. ‘Get her to talk and learn everything there is to know from her?’

‘I can see why you need the training.’ Ros Myers was definitely the woman with the strongest opinion here and she didn’t hesitate to share it with the other occupants of the room. Julius got the feeling that she could not care what others thought about her. It just did not interest her for some reason. She worked here, but she was no part of the team yet, not really. An outsider for one reason or the other, much like Julius, who with his beliefs and Slytherin background wasn’t made to feel very welcome at Headquarters. Some people thought he might be planted on them by Death Eaters and his application had almost been refused. Strangely enough it had been Harry Potter who had given him a chance. To this day Julius still did not know why.

‘They’ll have surveillance on her,’ Zaf explained. ‘If she is seen with MI-5, the suspects will do a runner and we’ll be back to square one.’

Reluctantly Julius had to admit that these people knew what they were doing. They just had to use other, far more primitive methods to achieve their goals. The things they had to come up with to compensate their lack of magic were ridiculous, but when it was only other Muggles they were hunting, that could hardly matter to them. They were however unsuited to deal with magical terrorists, as the Muggles called them, making this operation a waste of both time and resources in Julius’s eyes. 

‘Ruth, have you found a way in?’ Harry Pearce – he would never be able to think of that man as just Harry – turned to the woman in the skirt who had told them all about the Muggle aspect of the operation.

She went through a sheaf of papers, searching for something. It took her half a minute to find the right one and she held it up with something akin to triumph on her face. ‘The flat above hers is for rent,’ she announced.

Mr Pearce’s face lit up with a grim smile. ‘Perfect. Then make sure you rent it. Now, Ruth,’ he added when the woman didn’t make to leave right away.

‘Of course.’ Ruth almost tripped over her own feet in her hurry to leave the room. Eager, Julius judged, but thorough as well.

Harry Pearce then turned to Ros. ‘How do you feel about moving house for a while?’

Miss Myers gave a curt nod in response. ‘Charming.’ She made it sound like a consent and a way to convey her own personal opinion on the matter. She wasn’t overly enthusiastic, but not too annoyed either. She just seemed to think of it as a part of her job. Dutiful, Julius supposed. Thorough too, but indifferent at the same time. She seemed a strange woman. Why would she do this job?

‘And you, Mr Burke?’ To his surprise Harry then turned to him and for once Julius had no idea what was asked of him here.

‘Excuse me?’ It was more than a little frustrating that a Muggle had him this confused, but he had been taught manners and this might be a good time to use them. Ros had already threatened to have him sacked and that was a risk he was not prepared to take, not after he had worked so hard to get where he was now.

‘How do you feel about sharing a flat with me for a while?’ Ros drawled. She sounded bored, but there was anger there as well. Julius knew he was a good judge of character and this woman absolutely loathed him.

Horrible, would have been the honest answer, but that would cost him his job and he wasn’t prepared to risk that. Instead he settled for the untruthful, but very sarcastic ‘Great.’

‘Good.’ Harry Pearce pretended not to notice the sarcasm. ‘Get cracking on legends. You’ll move in tomorrow and I don’t think I need to point out to either of you that if personal matters get in the way of this op…’

‘… We’ll be out of a job.’ Ros sounded singularly unimpressed.

That was the only thing that made Julius put up with this madness, the only reason why he was now sitting on the couch of the Muggle flat he had to share with West and Hamilton, reading the file on the man he was going to pretend to be. From tomorrow on he would be John Lewis, twenty-two years old. He was two years younger than that, but with his height and bearing he would easily get away with it. He was posing as the nephew of Jennifer Lewis. That had been a little problematic at first, since Ros wasn’t that old, but the problem was solved by Jennifer’s brother and John’s father being a good deal older than her. That would make Jennifer the youngest of her siblings, to which Ros had reacted with another ‘Charming.’

Ros would be some kind of businesswoman who could work in an office and at home and Julius would be a college student living with his aunt because it was cheap and his supposed family lived in the north of England. He almost growled at the file. There was so much to remember and very little time to learn it. That was leaving the fact that he had to familiarise himself with Muggle habits and machinery at the same time. He almost wondered if it was worth all this trouble to keep his job, but then remembered that he was no quitter. If this was what it took, he would do it.

‘How’s it going?’ Hamilton’s voice snapped him out of his musings.

Julius fixed her with a dismissive stare. ‘Better if I wasn’t interrupted,’ he drawled. He never liked the Mudblood girl with her Muggle habits and her know-it-all attitude. ‘Didn’t you have some cooking to do or something?’

The flat they were staying in at the moment was clearly Muggle. There wasn’t a single magical object in sight. Mr Potter had really not been joking when he had said they were to live as Muggles until the operation had been concluded. The flat itself was not too disagreeable, apart from that rather big fault. The Slytherin had just no idea what to do with the Muggle equipment in it. Most of their machinery he had never seen before. There was a chance Muggle Studies discussed the subject, but he had never bothered with that class. And right now he could have been on another planet for all he knew. It unnerved him, although he would rather die than admit to that.

As he had concluded before, Muggles went to the extremes to find ways to live without the use of magic. It made their lives infinitely more complicated than what Julius was used to. All it took for him was one flick of his wand to keep food from going bad, but Muggles had to invent all kinds of machinery to do that for them. And that was just one example out of what he did not doubt would be several thousands. This single flat was already stuffed with Muggle inventions and Julius could not for the life of him figure what he was supposed to do with it all.

Hamilton of course felt right at home with it all, with her Muggle background, and even West seemed to have some knowledge – if not very extensive knowledge – of the things they were surrounded by. For quite possibly the first time in his life Julius Burke was at a disadvantage. He was used to being the one who knew exactly how everything functioned and what was expected of people in society. Being raised as a member of a wealthy and prominent pure-blood family had made sure of that. But here, in the Muggle world he so despised, he didn’t know what to do with himself and it put him on edge, very much so.

Hamilton for once was not put off by his cold tone of voice. Normally she would have made a run for it by now, but now, in a world where she knew exactly how everything worked, she was far more certain of herself. ‘Look, I know you don’t like me very much,’ she began. ‘But we’re here now and we have to learn to work together.’

‘Tomorrow I am moving out, Hamilton,’ Julius reminded her, pleased with how bored he sounded.

The girl ignored him and carried on as if she hadn’t heard him at all. ‘I do know a lot about Muggles,’ she told him. ‘And, no disrespect, but you don’t. So, let me help. You are going to need it if you really are going undercover.’ The words came out very fast and Julius was convinced that she had rehearsed them in the kitchen of this flat, working up the courage to come to him and say them, although he could not for the life of him work out why she would do that. She had never liked him and he had never liked her. She evaded him if she could, in favour of trailing after West like a lovesick puppy.

But whatever her motivations were, the last thing he needed now was to be bothered by the overenthusiastic Muggle-born. It was bad enough that he had to pretend to be a Muggle from tomorrow on, and only Merlin knew for how long he might need to keep up the whole charade. ‘I can study on my own,’ he told her brusquely.

From the other side of the room Julius could hear someone snort. ‘Don’t waste your time, Amy,’ Robert West called. To be honest, it was remarkable that he had managed to keep quiet so far, since he never wasted an opportunity to pick on Julius. ‘It’s how he is. He can’t seem to help himself.’

 _Pot, kettle, black_. Robert seemed to be talking about himself. His ego was bigger than the castle of Hogwarts and his arrogance was of matching proportions. Julius couldn’t stand the sight of him on the best of days. At worst, he sometimes had to physically suppress the urge to hex the wizard into oblivion or, in this case, throw him out of the window. They were three stories high. He might do considerable damage, hopefully enough for the Gryffindor to be in St. Mungo’s for the next couple of months.

He amused himself with that fanciful thought for a few moments before he allowed himself to remember that such a course of action would not only get him sacked, but also locked up in Azkaban and that was not a tempting prospect at all. ‘If I recall, Hamilton wasn’t talking to you, West,’ he called back lazily. How was it possible that wizard was more annoying than the Muggle-born? He never thought he’d live to see the day he would prefer the girl’s presence over that of a half-blood. Of course Robert West wasn’t just any half-blood.

‘My name is Amy.’ The Mudblood had jumped to her feet, knocking over Julius’s cup of tea in the process. She didn’t seem to even realise what she was doing. ‘We are all going to be real colleagues one day. Don’t you think we should try and get along better, like adults?’ That was quite something from her lips, since she was their junior by two years. The fact that she fancied herself to be the most mature was more amusing than anything else.

‘I haven’t thrown him out of a window yet,’ West spoke up, throwing an overly happy smile in Hamilton’s direction. ‘That’s the responsible thing to do, right, Amy.’ He seemed to remember something. ‘And I don’t call you by your surname either.’

Julius sighed in exasperation before burying his nose in the file again, deciding he had better things to do than waste his time with such trivial matters. ‘Yes, your behaviour is the school example of how any wizard should behave. Now, do us all a favour and get back to whatever useless thing you were doing before you so rudely interrupted someone else’s conversation.’ There was not much conversation going on of course, but it was something and at least this gave him a good excuse for telling off the Gryffindor. And with his temper running short, that was something he rather found himself in need of doing.

‘I was just reminding you of your manners,’ West shot back, devilish smirk on his face. ‘Come on, your pure-blood upbringing must have involved lectures on how to behave around women.’

‘Stop it!’ Amy slammed a fist on the coffee table, sending a glare first at Julius and a less stern one at the object of her affection. Favouritism if he had ever seen it. ‘Can you hear yourself talking?’ she demanded. ‘You sound like a couple of four year olds! The only difference is that four year olds don’t usually use such difficult words.’ She threw her hands into the air in exasperation. ‘How in Merlin’s name are we supposed to do our job when the two of you are at each other’s throat all the time?’

‘Stay away from me,’ Julius replied, eyes fixed on the text of his file. He had other and better things to do. If he didn’t know the specifics of his new identity by morning that could get him killed. If Ros didn’t do it first, then it might happen when he got a detail wrong and said something he wasn’t supposed to say. ‘And do please find a room if the two of you are so determined to have a little domestic. Good practise. You already bicker like an old married couple.’

From the corner of his eyes he could see Hamilton colour a bright shade of crimson red in what appeared to be embarrassment. West seemed singularly unimpressed with the last few words. ‘That’s rich coming from you.’

Julius arched an eyebrow with perfected boredom. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Have you heard yourself?’ West countered.

Julius smirked. West had nothing on him. It was just one of his feeble attempts to drive Julius into a corner and therefore unsuccessful. It was a Gryffindor thing, it would seem: big mouth and a lot of words, but it didn’t mean anything at all. Heaven only knew what Hamilton saw in this idiot. Even she, with her Mudblood status and annoying manners, could do better than that fool on the other side of the room.

‘Please stop talking,’ he told the other wizard. ‘It’s not as if you’ve got anything even remotely intelligent to add to this conversation, so please do us all a favour and close that far too big mouth of yours before you can embarrass yourself any further.’ This was usually the best way to drive the other wizard completely mad, by suggesting – and in this case he had done quite a lot more than just suggesting it – that he was stupid, which he was, according to Julius. He may be good with spells, but that was just about it. And Julius strongly suspected he was only that good at spells because that meant he could impress people by demonstrating them if he only got as much as half a chance. It annoyed the Slytherin to absolutely no end.

‘What are you insinuating?’ True to expectations, West had jumped to his feet.

‘Nothing.’ Julius kept his eyes on the papers, but his right hand crept closer to his wand, just in case his rival decided to try and make things a little more nasty. It was only when his hand arrived at the pocket of his trousers that he realised that there no longer was a wand there, because Mr Potter had taken it from him this morning. Without it he felt naked and exposed, unprotected and vulnerable. ‘I just gave you some friendly advice.’ He looked at his rival from over his file. ‘See, I’m making an effort.’ Of course he wasn’t, but at least it would shut West and his puppy up. ‘Now, if you would please shut your mouth and do something useful, I still have an operation to prepare for.’

Hamilton nodded. ‘Right. Just try to stay away from each other, will you?’ She seemed to sense that that was the best she could hope for in this case.

‘With pleasure,’ Julius told her, which wasn’t a lie, not by a long way. He would certainly not complain if he would never have to see West in his life ever again. With any luck the Gryffindor made such a mess of things that he would be kicked out. Now there was an uplifting thought.

But until that happy day he had an undercover mission to prepare for. He took a deep breath and went back to his file. This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m back again and I think I’ve got the plot more or less worked out from this point. I hope you’ll like it. Julius is a very difficult character to write and I hope I did a more or less decent job on him. I’d love to hear your opinion about this chapter, so please comment? It would mean a lot.


	8. Phoebe Simmons

The morning came far too quickly for Phoebe Simmons’s liking. It felt like only a few hours had passed since she had ascended the stairs to the flat above hers. She believed she had done all that she could, but there was no more time to check. There was no telling when the new tenants would arrive, but it would be safe to say that they would want the time to move in, so they might come early.

Andrew of course had not liked it when she told him that he and his sinister looking friends needed to leave the moment she had come in to tell them there were new people moving in the next day, but it could not be helped. That creepy looking man that always hung about had actually growled at her, making Phoebe want to run down the stairs and lock herself up in her own flat. Not that such a move would have helped her at all. All those creeps needed to do was wave their sticks around and the door would do as they told it to, including doing a tap-dance around her living room, she had no doubt.

Fortunately she had kept her head and insisted that they left, reminding them that they could not be found here. When the tallest and oldest man of the lot had muttered something about killing the new tenants and making them disappear without anybody any the wiser, Phoebe had mustered all her courage and told him that if he wanted to keep a low profile, he would do no such thing. For a moment she had thought he would kill her on the spot and her heart had been racing in a way any doctor would declare unhealthy, but she had stood her ground. They needed to go and, although she would not admit that out loud, she _wanted_ them gone.

And now they were. Phoebe looked around the flat’s living room, glad to realise that it looked perfectly abandoned. There was nothing to suggest that five men had been hiding here for weeks. Their possessions were gone. They had either taken them with them or left them in Phoebe’s flat on the floor below. Nothing could betray their presence now. The flat was abandoned.

She looked around the flat one last time, nodded her approval to the empty room and left, locking the door behind her. Today was her day off, so she might see her new neighbours arrive. Phoebe had no idea what they would be like. All she knew was that there were two of them and that they would move in the very next day, which was strange for more than one reason. They had rented it only yesterday and today they would move in already? It seemed awfully quick to her, but maybe there was some reason that she was not aware of why there was such a hurry. It wasn’t any of her business really. What was strange though was that the flat had been taken at all. Phoebe had lived in this building for five years, ever since she had split up with Andrew, and it had been empty even before then. The flat was draughty and leaked in several places, making it almost impossible to get people to rent it. Why no one had ever done anything about the place was beyond Phoebe, but it made it ideal for her husband’s needs.

Of course it leaked no longer after the wizards had stayed there for nearly four weeks and the draught had gone as well. It must be easy for them to fix such problems. All it took was a wave of those sticks and all their problems were solved. It made her wonder what they even needed her help for when they were so apt to deal with their problems all by themselves. Could they just not magically disappear or something? Why did they need to involve her in their plans?

She decided she did not want to know. Phoebe entered her own flat and locked the door behind her, a habit she must have developed over the past few weeks. It gave her at least the illusion of safety and privacy. No, she did not want to know. That was a decision she had made long ago, shortly after her wedding. Andrew was a loving man, a caring man, but he was always up to trouble of some kind and that was a side of him that she just did not want to hear about.

Escapism, she knew, but she could not care. It was the way she liked to live. And not loving Andrew was something that had not exactly worked out. She had tried of course. Five years previously she had thought she had been through with it all: the police banging on the door all hours of the day, and night as well, Andrew being covered in bruises, refusing to tell her where he’d been or how he had gotten those injuries, Andrew getting arrested, again. It put a huge strain on her life and eventually, after a huge fight with a lot of shouting and tears, she had kicked him out. She had sold the house, found this little flat and started anew, even when she had never gotten a divorce.

Just how well that had worked out had become clear when Andrew showed up four weeks ago on her doorstep, looking like he had not slept in days and with a bloody wound on his forehead, begging for her assistance. All it took was that pleading lost puppy look of his, a cajoling ‘Please, Phoe, I need you’ and she had been done for. She hated herself for it, but she could not refuse him, not even when he had brought Henry and three other “friends” into the building as well.

 _What a mess_ , Phoebe thought as she made herself a cup of tea and leaned against the windowsill, looking out over the street. It was only eight in the morning, but already a truck was driving up to the flat. The new tenants were early birds, it would seem, and Mrs Simmons thanked her lucky stars she had done the clearing out of the flat at night. She had missed sleep over it, but at least she had gotten rid of the evidence. It paid off now.

The truck stopped and four people got out, three of them men. There was only one woman, a business woman too, judging by her clothes and the neat bun that was her blonde hair. There was not much else she could make out from where she was standing. Another man helped her out of the truck. He was dressed more appropriately for the task of moving someone into a house. He wasn’t coming to live here himself, though. Because with them were two young men, one of them dressed smartly and the other in old jeans and dirty shirt. It would be the woman and the first young man that came to live here. The other two were just helping them getting settled.

Phoebe may be a school drop-out, but she was not stupid. Learning had just never interested her. Working in a shop was far more interesting to her. She saw all kinds of people and, if it was a slow day, she tended to amuse herself by guessing what kind of people they were and what they were doing in her shop. And it had the added bonus that most customers seemed to believe that personnel was just part of the furniture, so they assumed that they never heard the juicy details of their conversations, on the phone or otherwise.

The new tenants looked too classy for this neighbourhood, but maybe they wanted to keep up the illusion of a wealth they did not have by dressing like that. Heaven knew they would not be the first or the last to act like that. And quite frankly, it was none of her business. She was only so interested because they had taken the flat upstairs.

She put back the empty cup on the counter and seated herself on the couch. She didn’t feel like going to bed when it was only just eight thirty, but she might close her eyes for just a little while and then get up around twelve. Phoebe didn’t think she could go an entire day without sleep.

True to expectations she drifted off almost right away, only to be woken by the doorbell approximately five seconds later. The clock on the wall however told her that it was exactly four hours and twenty-three minutes later than she had believed. Phoebe muttered a curse under her breath, trying to fix her hair with her hands while she made a run for the door, wondering who it could be, praying that it wasn’t Andrew who had come back.

‘Coming!’ she called. She checked her reflection in the hallway mirror. Her hair was a little messy and she looked like she had just slept on the couch for some hours, having been woken by something quite abruptly. It was the truth, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. It could not be helped now.

She unlocked the door and opened it, finding herself face to face with her new neighbours. Phoebe found she had been right about who her new neighbours were: the woman and the young man with the smart clothes. The woman was probably a few years younger than Phoebe herself, but she had the kind of stern face that made age hard to guess. She had green eyes and blonde hair, the last of which she had already seen from the window. The young man next to her had eyes of the same colouring, making Phoebe suspect that they were family, even if they were nothing alike otherwise. The young man was in his early twenties and apparently not very eager to come here with his older relation to say hello to the new neighbours. His dismissive and uninterested scowl would put off anyone, maybe even that creep that Andrew called a friend these days.

‘Good afternoon,’ Phoebe said politely, silently cursing the fact that she looked like an absolute mess. ‘How can I help you?’

The woman extended her hand. ‘Jennifer Lewis,’ she introduced herself. ‘And this is my nephew, John. We live in the flat upstairs. We just came to say hello, but if it doesn’t suit you, we can leave of course.’

Of course it didn’t suit her, but Phoebe had learned manners. She took the proffered hand and shook it. ‘It’s all right. Please, come in.’ She stepped aside to let aunt and nephew enter. The latter hadn’t said a word, but he was observant and alert, Mrs Simmons noticed. Clearly he was not at ease here and he didn’t seem to be on good terms with Mrs – or was it Miss? – Lewis either.

Well, that was the youth for you these days, she supposed: always with their noses stuck to some screen or other and unsociable to the real world. And if his aunt had a problem with that, she would tell him so herself. It was not Phoebe’s place.

‘Can I get you something?’ she asked. ‘Tea?’

‘Tea would be wonderful,’ Jennifer said. ‘No sugar, please, Mrs…?’ She let her voice trail off in anticipation of a name.

‘Simmons,’ Phoebe said. She considered giving her maiden name for a split second, but she was still married to Andrew and she would not really have it any other way, even if they did not live together any longer. ‘Phoebe Simmons. You can call me Phoebe, Mrs Lewis.’

‘Miss, actually,’ Jennifer Lewis corrected her. ‘Never married, I’m afraid. Call me Jennifer, or Jenny, whatever suits you.’ She didn’t sound like she particularly cared.

‘Jenny it is then,’ Phoebe said. ‘How do you take your tea, John?’

The scowl on the boy’s face – she found it difficult to refer to him as a man when he kept sulking in such a childish manner – informed her that he did not appreciate her talking to him. ‘Two sugar.’ And, when he saw his aunt’s warning glance, he added: ‘Please.’

Ugh, Phoebe hoped she would not see too much of him around. He seemed like a particularly difficult specimen to get along with. She imagined that trying to keep up a conversation with him would be like pulling teeth or something close to it. Jenny seemed nicer, even if it was obvious that she was not a people’s person either. Her smile was kind enough, but her heart clearly wasn’t in it. Phoebe wondered if her discomfort was merely the result of the younger Lewis’s behaviour or that there was something else going on with her. Well, of course it was none of her business, but she could always wonder.

She bustled around the flat’s small kitchen and urged her guests to take a seat in the living room. ‘I apologise for the mess,’ she said, chattering in the hope that would break the ice. ‘Housekeeping is not one of my strong points. Just move some things around if you like. I’ll clean it up later. Would you like some biscuits with your tea?’

‘If it isn’t too much of a bother,’ Jenny said. ‘Thank you.’

‘Not at all,’ Phoebe assured her, smiling at the other woman as she carried the tray back into the living room. ‘It’s nice to meet new people and goodness knows that flat has been empty for ages. It’s good to have people living in it again.’

Jenny smiled back, seating herself on the sofa. ‘It’s hard enough to get something in London these days,’ she remarked. ‘Everyone is saying it, but I had not realised how difficult it was until I tried to find something myself.’

‘You’re from out of town, then?’ Phoebe asked as she poured the tea. ‘There you go.’

‘My office moved here,’ Jenny remarked. ‘So I moved with it.’ She glanced at her nephew. ‘And John needed a cheap place to stay while he’s at university, so this flat was ideal.’

A student then. It did not really surprise her. He had the right age for it. And if he didn’t have very much money it was only logical he’d live with his aunt, even if said aunt already regretted the offer to take him in.

Phoebe wondered what Jenny was doing for a living then. Judging by her clothes she would say that it had to be some kind of fancy job in the City then, but normally those people could afford better places to live. Well, she had said it was hard to find anything. She might just have taken the first flat she could get her hands on. Phoebe would have done that, had she been in her neighbour’s position.

‘Like I said, it has been empty for ages,’ Phoebe said. She offered Jenny her tea and put John’s on the coffee table, since he was staring out of the window with his back turned at the two women in the room. ‘I hope the disuse is not too bad.’

Jenny favoured her with a smile. ‘Mrs Scott from next door says we have you to thank for the lack of dust,’ she said. ‘She says you’ve been slaving away all night to make it inhabitable.’

For a moment Phoebe froze into place. Of course, how could she have forgotten? The flat may be empty and leak-free, which was suspicious, but not overly so. But she had completely forgotten about the dust that should have been accumulating in there for months. The lack of it would be noticeable and these two didn’t look like they were stupid. Stupid people didn’t go to university and stupid people didn’t work in some fancy office. Oh dear. How could she have forgotten?

And of course she had been seen as well and by Mrs Scott no less. She was a nice elderly woman with terrible hearing, but she was as sharp as she had ever been and her eyesight was better than a hawk’s. And she lived to spy on her neighbours. It had been a feat in and out of itself to keep her from noticing the not quite legal residents of the supposedly empty flat, but she had managed. Naturally she would be noticed when she went to clean up after those long departed residents.

The dread was just settling comfortable in her stomach, when she realised Jenny had not intended this as an accusation or a suspicion. _You’re getting rather paranoid, dear_ , her brain commented and Phoebe had to admit it was right. So, she conjured up a pleasant smile. ‘Well, I realised it had to be very dusty in there,’ she said. She shrugged. ‘It was nothing, really.’

‘It’s more than most neighbours would have done,’ Jenny insisted. ‘So if there is ever anything we can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.’

The look on John’s face told Phoebe his aunt had most definitely not been speaking for him when she made that offer. She had not expected him to be particularly helpful either. He was just the type to be out all the day and most of the nights, coming home only in the early morning, stamping up the stairs, waking all the other people in the building. She would not see him very much.

‘I’ll remember that,’ she replied, knowing already she would never take Jenny up on that offer. She needed to solve her problems on her own. They were probably too dangerous to burden other people with, people whose lives were not burdened by a husband who got himself into trouble over and over again, who did not need to worry about what on earth he might have gotten himself into this time. Their lives were simple. Phoebe often wished her life could be like that – and she had done a good deal of wishing in the past few weeks – but then Andrew would not be in it and she didn’t think simplicity was worth that price. ‘You’re very kind.’

‘It’s nothing,’ her new neighbour said. ‘I am sorry, Phoebe, but I think we need to go. We have so much to do still. John, are you coming?’

John looked relieved. He had visibly been uncomfortable here, looking like he wanted to bolt for the exit as fast as he could. To be honest, she was surprised it had taken him so long to do a runner. ‘Yes.’ The reply was as curt as his previous words. Come to think of it, he had not spoken more than two sentences since he had entered the flat, probably even less than that. Unsociable young man indeed, she observed.

‘It was nice you dropped by,’ Phoebe said. ‘And if you need anything…’

‘… We’ll know where you live,’ Jenny finished. Maybe this was just the paranoia coming into play again, but Phoebe could have sworn it sounded almost like a threat. But that was ridiculous. She had been in the business of being secretive for far too long and now it was starting to show.

‘Anytime,’ she emphasised.

Jenny was already on her way to the door, when John spoke up. ‘Nice picture,’ he said, pointing at a photograph of Andrew and Phoebe on the mantelpiece. The picture had been taken years ago during a holiday in Cornwall, just before things had gone horribly wrong of course, but Phoebe held fond memories of that week, which was why this particular photograph had been granted this place of honour. It reminded her of better days.

‘Cornwall,’ she said. ‘Have you ever been there?’ A useless question probably. He didn’t seem the type to enjoy that kind of vacation. He’d be the type to take a plane to some sunny country to sunbathe, drink a lot of alcohol and stay up till morning.

True to expectations John shook his head. ‘No.’

Jenny sighed in annoyance. ‘If you’re quite done…’ She tapped her foot impatiently on the floor to land the message home that she wanted to leave. Oh, there really was no love lost between these two. Phoebe wondered why Jenny had chosen to let her nephew into her flat in the first place. They looked like they might bite each other’s head off before the week was out.

‘Coming,’ the student said. He marched past Phoebe without as much as a goodbye, making his aunt sent a glare at his uncaring back.

‘I apologise,’ she said. ‘He’s not normally like this.’

 _Yes, he probably is. You’re just being polite._ But Phoebe appreciated her neighbour’s attempts to apologise. It wasn’t her fault she had such a brat for a relative. Jenny herself seemed nice enough. ‘Not a problem,’ she therefore said. ‘I do hope I’ll see more of you.’

‘I’m sure,’ Jenny agreed. Somehow Phoebe could not help but feel a little unnerved by those words. It was almost as if it was a threat and not a promise to become better friends. _Paranoid_ , she told herself. _You are getting too suspicious, dear_. That must be it, so she firmly closed the door on it, banishing it all to the back of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I’d give Phoebe’s POV a try in this one. She’s probably going to play more of a role later on. I hope you are enjoying the story so far, but I won’t know without any comments. I’d love to have some feedback on this story, so please let me know your thoughts? And suggestions are also very welcome if you have them.  
> Next time we’re switching back to Amy in Thames House. Until next week!


	9. Amy Hamilton II

‘Miss Hamilton! My office, _NOW_!’ It was the spy boss’s best commander roar that startled the young witch just as she was in the process of finishing up her report, the one she was supposed to send to the Ministry every day. She had heard that specific tone of voice far too often to not know that she was being called to the carpet because something somewhere had gone horribly wrong and she was to blame for it. The nerves instantly twisted her stomach into tight knots. This could not be good.

‘Coming!’ she called, hoping she did not sound too panicked.

Harry Pearce however did not hear that answer. He had already returned to his office and had slid the door forcefully shut behind him. Amy did not know the man very well yet, but this sounded like he was mad at her for something that she was not yet aware of. Because to her knowledge she had been doing reasonably well up to now. She had followed the instructions she had been given, had been interested in the work itself and had come up with a few ideas of her own to make the investigation go more smoothly. But apparently she had done something wrong and that on only her second day in Thames House. The nerves now mixed with dread.

Ruth, who occupied the desk next to Amy, smiled reassuringly. ‘You’ll be fine,’ the analyst said. ‘He does that to everyone.’ Amy could hear the endearment in the woman’s voice.

Malcolm offered her a smile of his own. ‘His bark’s a lot worse…’ He stopped himself there. ‘Actually, that’s not quite true.’ But he was still smiling, so the Ravenclaw suspected that it was just an attempt of humour on his part. It was hard to tell with Malcolm though. He was a very difficult man to read.

And Harry Pearce sounded like he was about to bite her head off, which made Malcolm’s comment a lot less funny than it could have been under different circumstances. And she still did not know whatever he was so angry for. The witch thought him to be a firm leader, but a just one, one who sunk his teeth into a case, not unlike the bulldog Mr Potter had compared him with. She for one did not like to be on his bad side.

And yet it would seem that was what she had managed to achieve all the same, not that it would take much for her – or her fellow aspiring Aurors – to anger Mr Pearce. He had never made it a secret that he despised the need to work with members of the British magical community. Strange, it seemed that the elderly spy had just as much dislike for magic as some of the pureblood families had for Muggles.

She hurried over to the office, which had reminded her of a goldfish bowl from the start, with all speed, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste to get there and to not make her temporary boss wait. He didn’t seem the type of man to take kindly to that. She even forgot to knock, but she figured that he had already more or less invited her in, so she did not think he’d mind.

Amy was greeted with a bang on the desk. ‘Don’t bother yourself,’ came the chagrined voice of the head of Section D half a second later. ‘Knocking isn’t customary around here!’

She coloured bright red in embarrassment. ‘I am sorry, sir!’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to…’

He did not let her finish. ‘I know you didn’t,’ he said gruffly. ‘Sit down.’ He beckoned to a chair opposite his, on the other side of the desk, definitely the wrong side of the desk for her to be on at this particular time.

Amy sat, but she could have been sitting on a hedgehog instead of a chair for all the comfort it offered her. For some reason the sit down command – because that was what it was – felt like a threat rather than a reassurance. And by now she was dying to know what the matter was, but it would be best not to push her luck, if she even had any. Right now it might just be a good idea to let Mr Pearce do the talking.

And, true to expectations, she had hardly had a moment to gather her thoughts when he pushed a sheaf of papers over his desk at her. ‘What’s this?’ he demanded.

Amy grabbed the file off the desk and studied it. It did not even take her five seconds to establish that this was her own progress report, the one she had emailed to Auror Weasley approximately twenty-four hours earlier. And she was not sure what it was doing on Mr Pearce’s desk or why he seemed to be so angry over it for that matter.

‘Yesterday’s progress report,’ she replied, confused. Had she given the Ministry incorrect intelligence without being aware of it? To her knowledge everything had been thoroughly checked against CCTV footage and information gathered from the various files she had seen.

But if she had been hoping to pacify Mr Pearce though, she was disappointed. ‘Why did you send that?’ He too now seemed confused, something the young witch did not quite understand.

The feeling that this somehow was just one big misunderstanding crept up on her. ‘I was ordered to report all progress to Auror Weasley daily, sir,’ she replied truthfully. She had been specially selected for that task because she was the most dutiful and most precise of the three recruits. And she supposed she was not really suited for work in the field anyway, so she would turn out to be more of a desk spook, as these people called it. It made sense for her to do the paperwork. And at least she knew the work was done thoroughly if she did it herself. Robert was too chaotic for it, could never be bothered with the more formal aspects of the job, and Julius thought it too boring to waste his precious time on.

‘I did not authorise you to do that,’ Mr Pearce told her bluntly.

Merlin’s beard, was that what this was about? ‘Mr Potter said he would square it with you, sir?’ Because of her own uncertainty it came out as a question.

Harry Pearce for some reason seemed furious and his words confirmed that theory. ‘For the duration of this operation you work for MI-5, not for the Ministry of Magic and as such you report to me or to Adam, not to Mr Potter or Auror Weasley. Is that understood?’

Amy didn’t know how quickly she should nod her understanding, but still, there was something off with her new boss’s reasoning. She bit her lip, knowing she was skating on thin ice here, very thin ice indeed, but she might as well say it. ‘But sir, aren’t we supposed to exchange information with the Ministry?’

Harry Pearce gave her a pointed stare. ‘Tell me, Miss Hamilton, how much information have we received from your end?’

How on earth was she supposed to know that? Surely these things were handled by senior officers? Mr Pearce’s words however made her suspect that it wasn’t as much as he would have liked. ‘I would not know,’ she said.

‘None.’ The answer was curt and in no way amused. And it also explained why the spy was in such a bad mood. He may not like this operation, but he had shown determination in ending it successfully. Being obstructed like this was bound to annoy the most patient of men and Harry Pearce could not be counted among those, Amy was afraid.

The worst thing about this was that she knew exactly why there had been no information flow from the Auror Department to Thames House. It was probably that whole wizard superiority coming into play, the idea that if they had to accept the help of Muggles, they had to be in some supporting role while the Aurors did the real work. It was strange though, because Amy had never taken Mr Potter for one to hold with such nonsense. But maybe he was just not aware of it. That was a distinct possibility, since he had a lot going on and might have delegated the task of keeping in touch with the Muggles to someone else. It did not make this conversation any more pleasant or the situation any different though.

‘I see,’ she nodded.

‘Good,’ Harry said, obviously satisfied that his point had been made. ‘Were you about to send another report?’

Amy could not help but blush, which was probably a confirmation in and out of itself. For some reason it felt a bit like an accusation and she _had_ been about to wrap it up and send it to Auror Weasley’s recently created email address. But lying would do her no good and so she opted on telling the truth. ‘Yes, sir.’

She expected Harry Pearce to forbid her from doing that, since he had not shown any enthusiasm for her making those reports, but he took her by surprise. ‘Then send it. And tell those superiors of yours to send something back this time. If we’re going to be liaising, it’s bloody well going both ways.’ The spy was still sounding grumpy and displeased, but Amy could understand that. And it would seem she would come out of this office with her job and all her limbs still in their proper places after all. That, for the moment, overrode anything else.

She interpreted this as a dismissal and so she got to her feet. ‘Right away, sir.’

She was already halfway to the door when the head of the section called her back. ‘And tell them to send it by mail, _email_. I don’t want magical appearances or any sodding owls in this building.’

For a split second Amy allowed herself to picture such a scenario, with owls all over the Grid, plastering computers and desks alike with their droppings. No, that would not do at all. But she quickly suppressed the smile that was threatening to pop up at that fanciful thought and forced her face back into a neutral expression. ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied.

She exited the goldfish bowl office and made her way across the Grid, back to her desk, feeling as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders now that she had been authorised to do what she had been planning to do in the first place.

‘You’re right,’ she told Malcolm, who was trawling CCTV around Phoebe Simmons’s flat with Ruth. ‘His bark is a lot worse than his bite.’

Ruth stifled a smile as Malcolm chuckled. The three of them were basically the desk spooks of the core team and Amy actually enjoyed working with them so far. Both of them were thorough and serious about their work and that was a nice change from some aspiring Aurors Amy could mention.

She finished the report and sent it to Auror Weasley. After some hesitation she sent a copy to Harry Pearce as well. Amy hoped he would approve of her request for information that she had added at the end of it. Now it would be up to the people in the Auror Department to deal with it, but no one could accuse her of not doing her job properly.

‘Hey, Amy, are you finished?’

She had hardly pressed the send-button when she heard Robert’s voice. The witch turned around to see him casually strolling – because that was the only description for what he was doing – towards her. Her fellow recruit acted like he owned the place and gave every appearance of boredom while he was at it. So far he treated this operation like a big joke and in her opinion even more so than Julius. At least the latter had invested hours of his time in learning his false identity inside out, had even missed sleep over it. Robert on the other hand had been tagging along with Zaf to settle Ros Myers and Julius into the flat, after which he had gone off to meet an informant, again with Zaf. By the time they came back on the Grid the amused expression on Zaf’s face had been replaced with one of unadulterated annoyance. Taken into account that Robert had not been doing anything useful for the remainder of the day, not that she could see anyway, she could understand that annoyance rather well.

Oh, she liked Robert, a lot more than she should probably, but not today, not when she was so busy trying to get her work done properly. The Gryffindor could be wasting all their chances of getting back to the Auror Department by behaving the way he did. And she was determined to make this work.

And this was so much more than just a punishment. This was about stopping and capturing Death Eaters and terrorists, about ensuring the national security. They were part of something truly important and in Amy’s mind that was not something to be treated as a joke. Come to think of it, though, sometimes her fellow recruit seemed to treat life in general as a joke. Should she really be surprised he was not taking this serious either?

‘I’m staying for a little longer,’ she told him, not feeling like going back to the flat just yet. There had to be something she could still be doing and after that reports incident it might not be such a bad idea to show her willingness to help the Muggle spies. ‘You can go on ahead, though,’ she added. ‘We’re keeping an eye on CCTV, so we’ll be here till late.’

Robert frowned. ‘I can help,’ he offered.

That had not quite been what she had in mind. As much as she liked him, what she would like best now was some time away from him. ‘You don’t know how the software works,’ she pointed out. He would not even know how the computer worked, come to think of it, in spite of the fact that he had a Muggle for a mother.

Robert looked slightly abashed for a moment, but he recovered soon enough. ‘Oh. Okay. Well then, see you later, I guess.’

Amy smiled at him. ‘Yes, see you.’

Robert left without saying anything else and Amy turned back towards her work, catching a questioning glance from Ruth as she did so. For some reason she felt as if she had been caught doing something she was not supposed to do. She blushed, a nasty habit that she seemed incapable of breaking.

‘It’s okay that I stay to help, right?’ she asked. Because it had been only Ruth and Malcolm who were keeping an eye on CCTV, not Amy.

Ruth smiled and nodded. ‘Of course.’ She still gave every impression of seeing something Amy did not want her to see, even if she was uncertain what that something even was. Fortunately she did not go on about it.

One by one the officers began to drift home and the Grid emptied out. But Amy found she liked being here at this time of day. The constant chatter of officers and the endless ringing of phones all over the place died away and all that was left was the humming and buzzing of working computer equipment and the Ravenclaw found that remarkably easy to ignore. And the computers did not need much supervision. They were throwing every face that showed up in a three street radius around Mrs Simmons’s flat through face recognition software and that could handle itself. The only reason why the three of them were still sitting here was because there needed to be someone present in the case someone showed up that for some reason had ended up on the terrorist watch list.

Amy spent most of her time reading up on the Muggle side of the operation. Yesterday she had been too busy with helping Ruth organise the practical sides of the undercover mission to learn much about Henry Downs and Andrew and Phoebe Simmons apart from what had already been discussed in the meeting and that was not terribly much to go on.

And she felt like she was missing something important, namely the reason why two Muggles, who had never been seen as particularly dangerous, were suddenly blowing up streets with Death Eaters, who absolutely _hated_ Muggles. All three wizards involved were known for their hatred of Muggles, so it would not make sense for them to team up with the people they so despised. It just didn’t add up.

She did not yet rule out the use of the Imperius curse, but that could be used on wizards as well as Muggles and they would be better served with magical assistants on their side. And the Imperius curse was unlikely for another reason as well, because it was very difficult to keep up for extended periods of time and this thing had been going on for months.

Hence her theory that there had to be some link somewhere and this link just might be buried in these files somewhere, in a way that the Muggles would have completely overlooked because they did not have access to the files Amy had seen. And now was as good a time as any to look for them.

Malcolm had popped out for about half an hour for sandwiches and a few apples and Amy ate while she read. It was getting late, but she was so emerged in her work that the time passed almost unnoticed.

Henry Downs’s file was a disappointment. There was nothing there to suggest that he had ever been in contact with the magical world, but of course there was the two year information gap to reckon with. He could have been up to Merlin knows what in that time period. They wouldn’t know.

On first sight Andrew Simmons’s file did not seem much more promising. The information seemed to be correct, nothing much that she had not heard already, no matter how frustrating that was. Amy had already gotten more and more frustrated with the lack of leads in Downs’s file and was close to pushing this one away in anger when something caught her eye.

‘Black,’ she whispered. One corner of her mouth curled up. This might just be what she had been looking for.

‘Sorry?’ Ruth asked.

‘Andrew Simmons’s mother’s maiden name was Black,’ Amy clarified.

Now both analyst and technician favoured her with a confused look. ‘How is that important?’ Ruth wondered. ‘It’s not an unusual surname.’

‘It’s also the name of a very old pureblood family, although the name does not exist anymore now,’ the Ravenclaw explained, getting rather enthusiastic about her own idea. She could not explain exactly why, but she felt like she was on to something. Maybe it was because it was the first link she had found, no matter how vague. It was something. ‘It could mean nothing,’ she admitted. Ruth was right, after all. It was a normal name and she was sure there were plenty of Muggles whose last name was Black. Maybe it was just because she wanted to find something that she was jumping to conclusions.

Ruth caught on, judging by the look in her eyes. ‘You think it could be the link.’

Amy nodded. ‘It’s possible. I can send a request for information. Lysandra Black is not a very common name, so if there is anything on her, we might be able to find it quite quickly.’ Her mind was racing ahead already before she realised that she was not in any position to make decisions here. ‘If I’m allowed to of course,’ she added hastily.

Ruth was just about to answer when the frantic beeps coming from the computer caused both analyst and witch to swivel their heads in its direction simultaneously. Malcolm was already on it, muttering under his breath as his fingers practically flew over the keys.

It did not take Amy long to establish what the matter was. From the nearest screen two faces were looking at her and both of them were familiar by now. One of them was still looking up at her from the opened file in front of her and the other was well known from all the wanted posters that decorated Diagon Alley these days: Andrew Simmons and Antonin Dolohov. And if their faces were now on that screen, then that would mean they had shown up on the CCTV near Mrs Simmons’s flat.

Ruth had already grabbed a phone. ‘I’ll red-flash Ros and Julius. Amy, alarm Harry.’

The atmosphere was now one of nervous anticipation mixed up with something akin to fear and dread. Amy did not know what could have brought the two suspects to that building and that uncertainty was unnerving. It could be that they just went to visit Simmons’s wife, but it  could also be that they had gotten wind of MI-5 presence and that would be a bad thing indeed.

The aspiring Auror practically launched herself out of her chair and ran over to the office. Harry Pearce was working late as well, even though it was almost midnight, ploughing through a lot of reports and files while nursing a glass of whisky. He looked exhausted.

Amy remembered to knock this time, before she let herself in.

Mr Pearce did not even look up from his paperwork. ‘Something’s wrong.’ It was not even a question, it was a conclusion.

And that stopped Amy dead in her tracks. ‘How did you know?’ she questioned.

‘You knocked,’ the spy replied, still not looking up. ‘No one here ever knocks unless it’s serious. What’s the matter?’

Amy took a deep breath. ‘It’s Simmons and Dolohov,’ she told him. ‘They’re near the flat.’

Harry Pearce cursed, and not quite under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I couldn’t resist slipping that whole knocking on the door thing in. Anyway, the plot is finally picking up now. Anyone having any ideas what Simmons and Dolohov are doing there?  
> A comment would really be lovely. I’d love to hear what you think!


	10. Ros Myers II

Phoebe Simmons was lying. It was plain and simple. That woman was holding out on them in some way. Ros would not be worth her salary if she had been unable to piece that together. Mrs Simmons had slaved the night away in this flat, but not out of the goodness of her heart. No one would do such a thing for a mere new neighbour. And the only reason why someone like her would make such an effort to clear up the place was if there had been guests here that had absolutely no business being here.

‘What was that with the photograph?’ she demanded of Julius the moment they were back in the flat. They had swept the place for bugs this morning and had found none, so they were clear on that one at least, which was a relief. And that meant they could talk without having to be afraid that someone listened in to a conversation not meant for their ears.

Julius favoured her with a disdainful look. ‘It was a place where he was happy and we are looking for places where Simmons could be, right?’ He managed to sound bored, which may or may not be him trying to get back at her for doing the exact same thing to him. ‘People run to where they know.’

Ros felt like kicking the boy out of the flat so that she could conclude the operation on her own, but that was unprofessional and this kid did have some potential. He just needed to use it.

And his suggestion wasn’t entirely stupid, even if Ros did not think Phoebe would have left her husband’s hiding place in plain sight for all to see. Still, the wizard had shown he could think for himself and that had to be worth something. And she was on an operation, so she could not afford to bite the young man’s head off. In the field you needed to be able to rely on your colleagues and no matter how much she hated the fact that she had to work together with a wizard, and one who hated everything and everyone that wasn’t as magical as he was, there was no helping it and so she might as well make the most of it.

So instead of kicking him out, she gave  a curt nod. But two could play this game of looking down on the other. ‘We need to search the flat,’ she decided. ‘See if there’s anything we have missed.’

There might be. Mrs Scott from next door had informed Jennifer Lewis that poor Mrs Simmons had been up all night to make the flat inhabitable and that she had looked exhausted when she had gone back downstairs again. If she truly had been so tired, there were things she could easily have overlooked. She had already looked startled when Ros mentioned the rather suspicious lack of dust, like she had forgotten all about it.

Still, despite these minor slip-ups the woman downstairs was not stupid. When Ros had learned that she was a school dropout she’d anticipated a woman who had been content to sit at home to wait for her husband to come back from work, the slaving wife of little intelligence. The job at the local supermarket only confirmed that for her.

So she had been surprised when she had been met with a woman who could actually think for herself and who had played the game with as much skill as Ros herself. In a way this could make it worse. Had Phoebe Simmons been unintelligent and her husband’s slave in all but name, then it would have been child’s play for Ros to turn her. Now she would have to anticipate the possibility of her being involved a lot deeper than appearances suggested. For all she knew, Simmons’s wife was as much a part of the whole group as her husband was. She certainly seemed intelligent enough.

‘Loose floor boards, empty spaces,’ she snapped at Julius when he did not appear to be moving at once. ‘Anything that might tell us what the bloody hell has been going on in here. Now.’

She dug up her mobile and phoned Harry. If her memory served her right Adam would be meeting an asset now, so he was not an option, even though she much rather dealt with the Section Chief than with her real boss.

‘Pearce.’

‘Harry, it’s Ros. Phoebe Simmons is definitely in on this,’ she reported, wasting no time in beating around any number of bushes. She wasn’t known for her social niceties. ‘The flat was dust free. Bit suspicious for one that has been empty since what seems to be the Second World War, don’t you think?’

This was in itself not any real evidence, but in Ros’s opinion spooks seldom had the luxury of getting suspects’ confessions in the written word, undeniable. They had to work with clues and bread crumbs, few and far in between often enough.

‘Anything else?’ Harry’s voice betrayed that he had very little patience at the moment. Given the fact that he had to put up with wizards at the moment, Ros was not too surprised. She had a bit of a problem controlling her temper at the moment herself.

‘Our new neighbour tells me Mrs Simmons has been up all night cleaning the place,’ Ros went on. ‘We’ve had a good look around her flat and she’s as much of a domestic goddess as I am, so she wasn’t here out of the goodness of her heart.’

‘She was clearing up the evidence.’ Harry had come so far in his career for a reason and as much as Ros disliked him personally, he was a good spy and he didn’t need her to spell everything out for him. ‘Right, are you checking the flat?’

‘On it now,’ she replied, watching as Julius was checking every place where a clue could be hidden. There was a determined look on his face that reminded Ros of herself. Away from the influence of West, he was a lot like her; devoted to the job. He could apparently not care less about his colleagues, but the operation meant something to him. ‘Harry, there’s something else as well.’

The groan on the other end of the line was quite impossible to put down to bad reception. ‘Ros, I need some good news.’

Well, he wasn’t going to get it from her. ‘We’ve underestimated Phoebe Simmons. She might be deeper involved than we first believed, might even be inner circle. She’s intelligent, Harry. She knows how to play this game. And she’s observant too. We may have to change plans with her.’ Ros had seen the way Phoebe acted. She had been startled when she first realised her mistake with the dust, but it had been only for a split second and then she had been firmly back in control of herself, pretending like there was nothing wrong. And she saw things too, more than Ros was comfortable with.

At the same time this was thrilling. Before now it had all been rather predictable, hardly challenging. Turning a simple woman was almost routine. It was the end game that would need her full attention, but in the meantime she would need to do a time-consuming whilst being stuck with a wizard who hated this, not her operation of choice. But this was something else entirely and the thrill of being onto something kept her going.

‘No.’ Harry’s answer was immediate. ‘That woman is our only way in. Get close to her in whatever way possible. I don’t know how you do it, but find out what the bloody hell she and her wand-waving friends are up to.’

‘What about the plans to turn her?’ Ros demanded.

‘Do it if you can,’ was the reply, not entirely unexpected. ‘Did you plant the bugs?’

‘An audio bug under the coffee table and a camera in the bookcase.’ It wasn’t as much as she would have liked, but it would have to do for now. She didn’t have much time and she could not take the risk of planting one with the mistress of the flat looking on. ‘Can you patch the information through to our flat? I need to know what’s going on in there.’ She didn’t know what Phoebe Simmons’s game was yet, but she sure as hell planned on finding that out before long.

‘Yes.’ Harry’s response was curt, as expected. He wasn’t one for social niceties either.

Ros was about to respond when Julius waved something around. ‘Miss Myers!’

Ros gritted her teeth. ‘Hang on, Harry,’ she told her boss before directing her iciest stare at her protégé. ‘What?’

‘A wand hidden behind the bathroom mirror.’ Julius held up a piece of wood that might have been a small branch a dog would use to fetch in the park, with the small exception that this one was extremely polished and, as far as the Senior Case Officer could see, completely free of any finger prints.

‘We’ve got something,’ she reported to Harry, putting the phone on loud so that Julius could have his say.

‘A wand, about twelve inches long,’ he reported, looking at the mobile phone as if he did not quite trust the device.

‘So, they were there,’ Harry said. Of course this only confirmed what they had already been thinking themselves, but it was more solid evidence than the absence of dust and Ros knew that. This might mean a breakthrough in the investigation and she was not about to deny that they needed that. ‘Right, try to get as close to can to Mrs Simmons…’

He might have gone on issuing orders, had the wizard not interrupted. ‘Would you not like to know who owned it?’ he demanded, sounding rather incredulous.

‘Are there finger prints on it?’ the head of Section D demanded.

‘No, but…’

‘Then hang onto it, but…’

Now Harry was the one who was interrupted again. ‘Every wand is unique, sir,’ Julius said forcefully. The respectful sir was added just half a second too late and betrayed that he had no respect for the man at all. ‘I know someone who can tell us everything about the wand and who will remember its owner as well.’

The silence lasted for quite a while before Harry replied. ‘Find out,’ he snapped. ‘Go with Ros.’

‘This person lives in the magical world,’ Julius informed him.

The silence lasted shorter this time. ‘Do it, first thing tomorrow. Good work, both of you.’ He hung up without a further greeting, but that was his way. Ros had become rather used to it these days.

It would seem that that was all the excitement for the day. There was not much they could do now that they had been having that little getting-to-know-you-chat with Mrs I-see-and-know-a-lot-more-than-I’m-letting-on Simmons and they had found the proof that this flat had until recently been occupied by magical residents whose interest in this flat had absolutely nothing to do with the view from the living room window.

Julius kept to his own, reading some book Ros was not particularly interested in. Dinner was an equally silent affair with both Julius and Ros herself reading. The Senior Case Officer busied herself with comparing her observations of Phoebe Simmons with the few things that could be learned from her altogether thin file. They needed a way in. Contact had been made. Now they needed a way to keep the contact alive.

She briefly contemplated posing as a sympathiser for whatever cause it was that Simmons and his merry men were pursuing, but dismissed it almost right away. They were not even sure what it exactly was that this little group even wanted and this course of action would alert Mrs Simmons that Ros knew she was involved with them. That would make her even more suspicious than she already was, if they didn’t spook her off entirely.

Trying to become friends with her seemed like the best option now. It wasn’t Ros’s strong point, but it would have to be Jennifer Lewis’s. The spy had spotted a lot of novels in the flat when they had gone in for tea and it was not the horrible chick lit one might expect from a divorced woman with low income. All the books were literature and they were worn and often used. Now that might be her way in.

Ros remembered that not so long ago, during the Havensworth operation, she had told Ruth that the American Secretary of State was about as interested in signing the agreement as she was in joining an all-women’s book club. Well, if she was going to get anywhere near Phoebe Simmons, that was what she may have to do anyway, like it or not.

It was nearly midnight by the time she decided that she had done all that she could for that day. She made a mental note to brief the Grid tomorrow and send in a request to set up a book club and deliver some of the titles she had seen in Phoebe’s flat as well as some she did not have to get her new neighbour interested. It wasn’t the most sound plan she had ever come up with, but it would have to do. And Ros needed a reason to stay in touch with Simmons’s wife. And with her being so wary already, drinking coffee with her every morning might soon get suspicious.

‘Get some sleep,’ she ordered her colleague brusquely. What he was even doing here was not yet clear to her. All he had done so far was reading and scowling. Admittedly he had found the wand and he had picked up on the photograph, but Ros could have done that herself as well, and probably a lot better as well. And in that case she’d live much rather on her own.

Julius was about to reply – a less than polite reply, judging by the expression on his face – but Ros’s mobile interfered with his plans.

‘Myers,’ she barked into it.

‘Ros, this is a red-flash.’ To her surprise it was Ruth’s voice on the other end of the line. ‘Simmons and Dolohov are entering the building now. We do not have any intelligence on why they are there, but…’

But Ros did not have any time for the other woman’s lengthy analysis of the situation. ‘Back-up?’ she demanded, walking roughshod over the rest of Ruth’s explanation.

‘On it,’ came the reply.

In Ros’s experience that could be translated as _not coming in time to help you_ nine out of ten times, which was not a very reassuring prospect taken into account that one of the people now entering this complex had magic and could kill her in ten different ways if he was so inclined, and probably all at once. ‘Are they armed?’ When there was no immediate reply, she repeated the question. ‘Dolohov and Simmons, are they armed?’

‘We can’t see.’ Ruth sounded frustrated. ‘They’re wearing long coats, both of them. They could have all kinds of weapons under them.’

Ros growled softly in frustration.

Unfortunately the intelligence analyst caught that. ‘I can’t work miracles, Ros!’ Oh yes, the indignity in her voice was unmistakable.

 _That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s in bloody danger here_. ‘Charming,’ she commented. ‘And since our dear Mrs Simmons is so close with our magic-loving terrorists, we’ll have to assume that Mr Burke and I are the target here.’ They had to be. It was the only reasonable assumption to make. If they bothered Phoebe, they would lose an asset and Ros did not think they would like to take that risk, not when they needed all the help they could get. But it would make sense if Phoebe had realised something was off with her new neighbours upstairs and had called her husband to get them off her back, because she suspected they were not all they pretended to be. ‘Tell the cavalry to hurry up.’ She ended the conversation before Ruth could say another word.

‘What’s going on?’ Julius questioned.

‘It would seem that we have company,’ Ros said curtly, marching over to the sofa to retrieve the gun she had hidden under it just that morning. She was not entirely sure how much good a gun would be in fighting off wizards, but she was willing to take her chances. At any rate it was better than just wait for these idiots to come in and do their worst.

‘You, behind the door!’ Ros snapped at her unwilling flatmate. This was not the first raid she’d dealt with in her career and she was determined to come out of this again.

For just this once the wizard did not feel the need to protest her every command. He just disappeared behind the door as Ros herself took shelter behind the bookcase. Julius’s altogether calm behaviour betrayed that this was not his first raid either and that was a relief. It might mean that he could contribute to their defence and would not be as much use as a toddler in case of an attack, as she had first suspected.

Both of them were quiet, listening for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Ros controlled her breathing and forced herself to remain calm. Ros Myers wasn’t known to panic and she did not plan on starting the habit now. But this was the first time she was threatened with magic and that did make her feel nervous, even though she would rather die than admit that.

But the footsteps she anticipated never came. Instead they were treated with the sound of a shouting male voice a floor below. The owner of aforementioned male voice must be rather angry to sound like that.

Julius’s head peeked around the door. He looked a little puzzled, or as puzzled as he was capable of looking anyway. ‘We’re not the target,’ he said as if he had only just realised that himself.

‘Phoebe is.’ Ros realised the same thing at almost exactly the same moment. This was at Mrs Simmons’s flat. And that was just as alarming a development, because if she was disposed of, then they lost every chance of ever getting to that sodding little group her husband was a part of. And she was not about to sit back and watch that happen.

She was out of the door the next moment, not giving this a moment’s thought. There may be risks attached to this, but risks were a part of the spook’s job. She would have called for back-up if she thought they could get here in time, but it was unlikely and there was no time to inform the Grid of this new development since she was not on comms – as was usual when on an undercover mission because they could not risk being found out – and there was an alarming absence of CCTV in the building itself.

‘Where is it?’ The unknown male voice rose to yet another shout as Ros was halfway down the stairs.

‘I don’t know, I swear I don’t!’ The answering voice was female. The woman it belonged to was also crying. And Ros knew who that was.

She came around the last bend and was met with the sight of a crying Phoebe in a green dressing gown. Simmons’s wife had her arms wrapped around her torso as if she was bracing herself for the worst. Simmons himself hung back a bit, watching as his companion, who Ros recognised as Antonin Dolohov, was standing far too close to Phoebe, shouting abuse at her. Apparently he thought his accomplice’s wife had something of his and he wanted it back.

The wand sprang to mind almost right away. It could well be Dolohov’s and that would explain why he was so tetchy now, so tetchy that he had reduced Phoebe to tears. Ros did not particular feel for the woman, but she did care about keeping her alive for now.

‘What the bloody hell is going on here?’ she snarled at the two men. This could blow their cover, but it was a risk she needed to take if they did not want to lose the asset. Dolohov looked like he would have very little trouble with murder right about now.

Dolohov did not even seem to notice her presence, but Simmons rounded on her. ‘Who are you?’

‘Jenny Lewis, Phoebe’s upstairs neighbour. We heard the shouting.’ She conjured up a concerned expression as she looked at her new neighbour. ‘You all right?’

Mrs Simmons nodded, but her behaviour contradicted that. Her face was tear-stained and she was trembling. In fact, she looked like she might pass out any moment now. And since Jenny Lewis was no less intelligent than Ros Myers, she decided to act on that information.

‘This is harassment,’ she informed the two men. ‘I have no idea who you are, but if you don’t clear out of here this very minute, I will call the police.’ She preferred the shooting option, but she wasn’t sure how much good that would do. And she might hit their future asset as well as those men. No, she would leave the shooting for the cavalry.

‘Don’t get involved, Mrs Lewis.’ Dolohov turned around now too, leaving his victim for the moment. He looked like his fingers were itching to shoot her – or whatever the magical equivalent was – but he refrained from it for the moment.

Ros met his eyes steadily. ‘John, run upstairs and call the police,’ she said. Meaning: _run upstairs and call Thames House._ She needed to get these two men out of here after which they would preferably walk right into the arms of the arriving back-up, if they planned this right.

It did probably help the decision along that Julius had already turned around to get the phone that the intruders did as she asked. Dolohov still looked at her like he wished her a very slow and painful death, but then turned around. ‘We’re done.’

‘I would think so,’ Ros said icily. ‘Out. Now.’

And out they went. Ros gave a firm nod and then released her hold on her gun. From the corner of her eyes she saw that Julius slipped something that looked remarkably like the wand they had found in the flat into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Julius introduces Ros to the magical world.  
> In the meantime comments would be more than welcome. Come on, people, I’d like to hear your opinion!


	11. Julius Burke II

The next morning came far too early for Julius’s liking. It felt like it had only been seconds since he had laid his head on his pillow, but when he looked at the clock it turned out that it was half past seven already. It still wasn’t much of a consolation, since they had been up for what felt like most of the night.

First they had to calm a near hysteric Phoebe Simmons, who was in a state of complete disarray, but stubbornly refused to let them call the police for her, confirming every suspicion Julius had ever had about her involvement in the Manchester debacle. The Muggle spy had been right: Simmons’s wife was a lot deeper involved with all this than they had first believed possible.

That only left them to wonder about what this entire scene had meant. The Muggle may be involved, and she was not under the influence of any spell as far as Julius could tell, but her involvement needn’t necessarily be voluntarily. There were more ways to force people into something they did not want to do.

But that would be Miss Myers’s job to find out. And it would have to wait until they had identified the wand they had found. After last night’s spectacle Julius had strong suspicions about the owner’s identity, but they needed to be sure. They could not afford not to check their information and Julius was nothing if not thorough and devoted to his work, something people like Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley failed to see because of his Slytherin background.

Julius found that he was in serious danger of becoming more involved with both the operation and the Muggles that were in charge of it than he had ever thought possible and that in less than forty-eight hours. Maybe it was just unavoidable. Because this may be a punishment for him – being deprived of his wand, forced to work with people he may not despise entirely, but with whom he wasn’t eager to work either – but he had been focused on catching the renegade Death Eaters for weeks already. Those were after all the kind of Slytherins that gave all the rest of them a bad name. His house – because one didn’t stop being a Slytherin after school; it was something for life as well – already had a bad reputation after the Second Wizarding War, even those that had not been a part of anything at all. It was just the way people’s minds worked, he supposed, even though he did not like that at all. The wizarding community had turned collectively on everything and everyone that remotely looked like Voldemort sympathisers and Julius’s family had not been too busy resisting the Dark Lord’s rule, because it more or less suited them. That meant that he now felt he had to prove that not all pure-bloods were bad. And what better way to prove that he was not anything near a Death Eater than to hunt them with the Muggle spies?

The Slytherin Auror had been a child, just not old enough to go to Hogwarts, when the Second Wizarding War had been raging. Consequently he had been kept out of everything important, so he was not to blame for anything that had transpired then. Yet it was surprising how many people seemed to think that what had happened was somehow his fault, as if the Death Eaters’ crimes could somehow be loaded onto him, so that he had to take name-calling and the occasional jinx in the school corridors. His family had wealth and influence, but it could not stop people from thinking what they wanted to think, especially not in a magical school full of overconfident little idiots who had inherited all of their parents’ prejudices without questioning them. So whoever still believed that Slytherins were arrogant and powerful in school these days had better think again.

It may be selfish to hope that his involvement with the Muggle secret service would change people’s minds. It would be useless either way. Deep down he knew that and yet he hoped. He had hoped for the same thing when he first heard he had gotten a place in the Auror Department, but people either ignored it or thought he would use that position to aid the last Death Eaters. And that particular opinion was ridiculously hard to dispel.

He was pondering all this when he walked down the streets of London towards the Leaky Cauldron, the wand safely stored away in the large pocket of his coat. The coat was wizarding make, but could pass unnoticed in the Muggle world as well. The novelty about this one was that it had a pocket especially made to keep a wand without everyone noticing it and it was a decidedly better place to keep it than in the back pocket of one’s trousers, the not quite so inconspicuous place where quite a lot of wizards tended to keep their wand when they were forced to wear Muggle clothing.

‘Where the hell are we even going?’ Ros Myers interrupted his train of thought. The Muggle spy had not grown any nicer since he’d met her, but at least she was honest about it. Julius had met enough people who said one thing to his face and quite another thing behind his back. He appreciated the honesty in this woman. And she was just as hell-bent on catching their suspects as Julius was, although for completely different reasons. That made them allies in his opinion.

‘Diagon Alley,’ the aspiring Auror replied. He had to remind himself that this woman did not have any knowledge of the wizarding world whatsoever, so he would need to explain most things to her. ‘My people’s shopping centre. We’ll need to enter through the Leaky Cauldron, the local pub.’ It was after morning rush hour and the streets were not particularly crowded, so he did not have to be too careful with his words. Still, it would be better if he watched his tongue, because he did not have any intention of violating the Statute of Secrecy any further than it already was by the involvement of the Muggle spies. ‘The man who can identify _it_ has a shop there. He’s probably the one to have made it as well.’

Ros frowned. ‘How can you be certain?’

‘Because practically everyone in Britain buys at Ollivander’s.’ There were other wandmakers, but it was a fact commonly known that Ollivander was the best. As far as he knew, everyone he had ever known had bought their wands there. ‘His family has been in the business of making them for over two thousand years.’

It made him feel good that he knew something the Senior Case Officer did not. Lately he felt like he was unable to keep up in the Muggle world and it was nice to have the roles reversed, even if it was only for a few hours.

And if he was really honest, he admired Miss Myers’s ability to accept what for her should be completely bewildering with nothing more than a nod. Her face was completely neutral, not betraying that she had just received a piece of information about magic, which was strange, because she had not even heard of the magical world a week ago. Perhaps, Julius wondered, that was just a spy trait. He imagined she needed it in this line of work.

‘Over there,’ he pointed when they approached the magical pub. She would see it because she was with him. The parents of Muggle-borns were usually allowed in as well, so Ros Myers would be too, as long as she was with him. It would turn a few heads, though. Of that he was almost certain.

Ros looked and then appeared to be startled. ‘Where did that pub come from?’ she demanded. ‘It’s never been there before.’

‘It has always been there,’ Julius corrected her. ‘You’ve never been able to see it before. Muggles are not supposed to see it.’ Long live the Statute of Secrecy. Julius shuddered at the thought of every Muggle in London being able to access the magical world. There were few enough pure magical places left as it was.

Ros made a noise that might be disapproval, but the wizard could not be sure. He decided to let it be for the moment and just crossed the street. Part of him was nervous about this as well, because he had never been given the warmest of welcomes around here. It was that way for a lot of Slytherins these days, especially those who refused to keep their beliefs a secret, like him. It was the collective decisions of the “good guys” from the war to look down on those who had supported the losing side or who had at least not spoken out against Voldemort’s regime and who to a certain extent agreed with his views. The chose to conveniently forget that the resistance in those days had been a very small movement and that in fact very few people could lay claim to having been on the good side. The vast majority of the people had sat back and done nothing. They had let it happen, something they did not like to be reminded of.

Ros Myers seemed to sense his nerves. She frowned at him and then stopped him before he could open the door to the pub. ‘What is it you’re not telling me?’ she questioned. She was observant, had to be in her job, but Julius did not particularly like it now.

He briefly contemplated telling her a lie, but that would not do the working relationship any good and he might be cooped up in that flat with her for only Merlin knew how long. And besides, she might find out soon enough anyway. ‘My family is not well liked,’ he replied as curtly as he thought he could get away with. ‘There are old prejudices, but they are no less strong for it. We might experience some… difficulty on the street and in the pub.’ He didn’t think Ollivander would do that. He was a little eccentric perhaps, but he had also been friendly, in spite of the horrible treatment he was said to have endured at the Death Eaters’ hands.

Ros nodded in understanding, even though it was obvious she didn’t like it. ‘Charming,’ she commented, what seemed to be her standard reply for things she disliked.

To his surprise she then took the lead and pushed open the door and let herself in with decisive strides. It almost looked like she was a soldier marching onto the field of battle, which might not be too far beside the truth. It was obvious that she disliked this place and wanted to get away from it the first chance she got. This was clearly an operational matter to her or she’d never come here at all.

Julius followed suit, hating the fact that the nerves settled comfortably in his stomach and remained there. He was not exactly afraid – he wasn’t in the business of being scared – but he didn’t exactly like the kind of gossipy people who frequented the Leaky Cauldron either, because they didn’t seem to be doing anything useful with their life. There was one in particular, someone called Hector Hilliard, an elderly man who had his leg hexed off during the war by a very distant relative of Julius’s. Having nothing better to do with his time these days he spent most of it in the Leaky Cauldron getting drunk, complaining about his handicap and declaring his undying hatred of everything Slytherin for all who wanted to hear. Ten to one he would be here now.

He took a deep breath and kept his head high. He had the reputation to be arrogant, but it was as good a shield as any physical or magical one. The hurtful words could just bounce off of it and he could pretend he was far above their sneering remarks, that he had never even heard them to begin with. Of course he did hear, and yes, it did hurt, but he had pride. He would not allow them to see it. _Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me_. Whatever fool had thought up that nonsense should be put in Azkaban with a life sentence, in Julius’s opinion. They had clearly never been on the receiving end of words.

And he was right; they did get stared at, and quite a lot at that. Conversation died down, people looked, although the looks seemed more directed at Ros with her obvious Muggle attire. The spy however pretended she had not seen it. She stood in the middle of the room as if she owned the place, not paying any attention to the other people in it.

For some reason Julius drew some strength from it, although he would never be heard to admit to take a Muggle’s behaviour as an example to model his own behaviour on. If a Muggle could hold her own in the midst of magical folk, then he could surely stand his own ground as well. He carefully put the patronising smile in place and strode through the room to join his temporary colleague.

‘Look who we’ve got here.’ The voice of Hector Hilliard reached his ears. ‘What brings _you_ to this place, Burke?’

‘Auror business,’ Julius replied curtly, not bothering to even turn around to face the man. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Now, if you’ll excuse us, there are some people around here who do not have the time to hang around in pubs all day.’ Now he took the lead, practically marching over to the exit, taking care to keep his back straight. The sooner they were out of here, the better it would be.

‘Is that a Muggle?’ This was the barman and a quick glance over his shoulder learned that he was staring at Miss Myers quite incredulously. It coloured his voice as well.

He imagined that she would take offence – she seemed very good at that – but all she did was to arch an eyebrow. ‘Problem with that?’ she asked in a rather sickeningly sweet tone of voice that somehow sounded all the more dangerous for it. And it did the job of shutting the barman up rather effectively.

‘Muggles are not allowed in here,’ Hilliard pointed out accusingly. He sent a murderous glance at Julius for having the guts to bring her in, conveniently forgetting that he was now displaying the very views of the group of people he so despised. People could be such hypocrites. There were times Julius wondered if it was not a particular wizard trait. But he was not sure what that said about him, so he dismissed the thought again.

He had already opened his mouth to step in with some scathing remark, but Ros beat him to it. ‘Rosalind Myers, MI-5,’ she introduced herself. ‘Now, if you do not want to be arrested for some trumped up charge which my colleague and I will then make sure will be persecuted to the full extent of magical and Muggle law, then I suggest you leave us alone. Of course, should there be fatal consequences as a result of your hindrance, we would not hesitate to put you in court for that as well. The choice is yours.’

There were no weapons, no wands. Ros was not even in the position here to do anything to him, but yet the old man leaned back, clearly backing off. The tone of voice and attitude were enough to make him change his mind. Maybe it just was the trick to make people believe you could do something. And it might help that she was in the company of one who was commonly known to be working in the Auror Department, making her threat sound a whole lot less hollow than it actually was.

‘Thought so,’ the spy said when no answer was forthcoming. ‘Mr Burke, are you coming?’

Julius followed. He should have felt humiliated that a Muggle spy had succeeded where he had been failing for years, but at the moment his feeling of triumph at seeing Mr Hilliard One-Leg taken down a peg or two with nothing more than a few well-chosen words and a threat overruled any other emotion he might have felt.

He guided his temporary colleague to the stone courtyard behind the pub and tapped the wall with the wand that quite possibly had belonged to one of their suspects. Strictly speaking he was not supposed to be using that at all, but his own wand was not available at the moment and he’d rather die than ask the barman to open the gate for him. He liked to maintain some of his dignity. And Ros Myers was not commenting, so he supposed it was all right, though it was always hard to know what she thought. Disapproval and anger were the only emotions she ever put on display.

Diagon Alley was quiet today, for which the Slytherin was eternally grateful. There were a few elderly witches out for a day of shopping, but they were too busy chatting to one another to notice the wizard and the Muggle. A good thing too, Julius pondered idly. They might be scandalised. The only other few people on the street were mostly stay-at-home mothers, sometimes with small children, who were too busy to get their shopping done to pay any attention to their surroundings.

Diagon Alley was usually most crowded during holidays and weekends. At the moment it was neither. It was just an ordinary Thursday morning. That was the way Julius liked Diagon Alley best: without the masses. It meant he could hurry up and the chances of running into someone he did not want to see were brought back to a minimum.

‘Who are we meeting?’ Ros inquired as they walked – although marched might have been a more appropriate description – through the street. Between the hysterical Simmons woman and the Muggles on the streets of London, they had not had quite a lot of time to discuss their destination.

‘Mr Ollivander, finest wandmaker in the world,’ he replied. ‘People from all over the world come to buy from him, even now he is getting quite old. He has a remarkable memory and can recall every wand every customer has ever bought from him.’ It had freaked him out at first when the wandmaker had informed him which wands his parents and grandparents had. For a moment he had foolishly wondered if the man had used Legilimency on him, until he remembered that he did not even know what kind of wand his grandfather actually had, meaning that Ollivander could not have gotten the information from him. Other than that, he remembered the old man fondly as one of the few people outside his family who had not immediately seen a Death Eater in the making when they first laid eyes on him.

The shop was as shabby and small as it had been when Julius had been a child, coming to buy his first wand with his mother. Of course he had been here only a few days ago when he had gone to replace the wand his suspect had taken from him. Somehow it looked even smaller now than it had been when he had been eleven. The walls were lined with shelves on which boxes were piled. The shop smelled of wood and dust.

Ros Myers looked around her like she was appraising the place and did not quite know what to make of it. But if she was ill at ease here at all, then she did not show it. The Muggle spy excelled at hiding her feelings.

‘Hello?’ Julius called. ‘Mr Ollivander?’

‘Ah, Mr Burke.’ Ollivander didn’t need to speak loudly to still startle him. Julius wondered how it was even possible that he always managed to creep up on his customers, especially in so small a space. ‘I had not expected you to be back so soon. Is there a problem with your new wand? Yew, it was, dragon heartstring, twelve inches, slightly yielding.’ He summed it all up without having to think about it.

Julius shook his  head. ‘No, but…’

Ollivander did not let him speak. ‘And a Muggle,’ he observed. ‘Curious, very curious.’

Ros rolled her eyes and was clearly on the verge of coming up with some very scathing put-down, but Julius was quicker this time. The last thing he wanted was for Miss Myers to insult the most famous wandmaker in wizarding history. ‘Rosalind Myers, from the Muggle security service,’ he introduced her. ‘Mr Ollivander, we’ve encountered a small problem.’ It was probably best to go on immediately, not giving him the time to wonder what a Muggle spy and an aspiring Auror were doing together on an operation, because that was classified information. Ollivander was a discreet man, but it was best not to tell him anyway. ‘We found a wand and we are almost certain that it belonged to one of our suspects. Could you identify it for us, please?’ Julius Burke wasn’t known to be polite, but he gladly made an exception for this man.

Mr Ollivander just held out his hand and Julius complied with the unspoken request. ‘Ah, blackthorn, dragon heartstring, twelve and three quarter inches, unyielding. Yes, I do remember this wand.’ He was silent, in thought.

‘And are you going to tell us who owned it or were you planning to spell it out in fireworks on New Year’s Eve?’ Miss Myers demanded. The Senior Case Officer was not the most patient of women, Julius had already learned, and Ollivander was, he had to admit, not every forthcoming with his information.

‘This wand belonged to Rabastan Lestrange, Miss Myers.’ Ollivander did sound indignant and rightly so. This was not the way in which one addressed the finest wandmaker to walk this earth, especially not at his age. Of course Ros Myers had zero consideration for what she called social niceties and cared nothing for what society expected of her. And normally Julius was just like her, just not this once. Maybe that made him a hypocrite, just like the vast majority of people that populated this earth.

Ros swore and not quite under her breath. ‘I’m phoning Harry,’ she announced. She had already turned on her heels to exit the shop before Julius could even begin to follow her. ‘I’ll see you outside the Leaky Cauldron in thirty minutes.’

Julius did not quite understand what she meant. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘And when you do, do try to keep your new wand out of sight,’ she continued. ‘Wouldn’t want to explain that to Harry, honestly.’ She had exited the shop before he had gotten a chance to reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ros never really did work by the rules, did she? Next week we’ll check back in with Ruth and Amy and their investigations. In the meantime a comment would be lovely. I’d really love to hear your opinion about this.


	12. Ruth Evershed

Ruth would not deny that she was nervous to go to the Ministry of Magic, but on the other hand she was as excited as a young girl who had been offered free access to the candy shop. It was who she was. She liked to learn and the wizarding world was a world to be explored, within the limits of her work, of course. And limits there were, because her task today would be to plough through family trees with lots and lots of names in order to find out all that they could about Lysandra Black’s possible links to the wizarding world. It would be a long and tiring job of cross-referencing their data against the wizards’ information and there would be no computer to help her do it.

She did however have the young Auror recruit to help her sort through the information they would hopefully get to see. Amy was quite convinced that her boss would let them see whatever they wanted, but that there were a lot of other witches and wizards who were none too pleased by the prospect of having Muggles in their temple of wizardry.

Amy had tried to explain the prejudices, but this was something that remained a bit alien to Ruth. According to her protégée most wizards did not like Muggles very much, even if they officially were strongly against Muggle discrimination. It had something to do with the two Wizarding Wars, but she had been unable to find out what. All she had were a few brief references to the policy and opinions on Muggles and the relation to the wars, but unlike in novels, people didn’t spell out their entire history in mails and phone calls for the benefit of any people listening in. They already knew what they were talking or writing about, so there was no need to explain. And while that was perfectly logical, it did mean that there were now gaps in the intelligence analyst’s knowledge and she did not particularly like that. She was used to being the one best informed.

‘How will we get to the Ministry?’ she asked Amy as they crossed a street.

‘The visitors’ entrance,’ the young Auror replied. Miss Hamilton was a capable young woman, but, very like Ruth sometimes, far too shy and nervous. And the nerves were very much present this morning. ‘Most people Floo or Apparate into work, but we can’t do that, because you’re a Muggle and I haven’t got my wand.’ She sounded a bit frustrated.

Most people wouldn’t know what the Floo network was or what people meant when they talked about Apparating, but most people weren’t intelligence analysts in Section D of MI-5. Ruth Evershed was. It did give her a distinct advantage in dealing with the wizarding world, which was probably why Harry had sent her here with Amy today. Of course looking through papers was her job, but she had the other advantage as well and that reassured her somewhat, even if it wasn’t much.

The text came in just as they walked into an abandoned alley with a lot of graffiti-plastered walls. _Wand found belonged to Rabastan Lestrange. Blackthorn, dragon heartstring, 12 ¾ inch, unyielding. RM._ Ruth smiled a little as she showed the text to her companion. She may not like Ros very much, but she was good at her job and had somehow managed to find this all out before it was even ten in the morning. She supposed she was okay with the fact that Ros Myers worked for MI-5, as long as she didn’t have to do her work anywhere near the woman. Something about the new Senior Case Officer always either made Ruth nervous and very ill at ease or irritated and angry.

‘So they were there,’ Amy said. ‘Over here, Ruth.’ She pointed towards an old red telephone box that looked like it had been placed there in the seventies or even earlier and nothing had been done about it since. It was as shabby as the neighbourhood it stood in and while Ruth knew from various intercepted emails that the Ministry itself was underground, it still came as something of a disappointment.

Amy however acted as if this was all fairly normal, opened the door and made an inviting gesture with her hand. _It is magic_ , Ruth reminded herself. _It is not supposed to be normal_. Everything else in this magical community was different. If she had learned anything at all from her digging, then it was that. And she had seen the bewilderment of the two male Aurors when they had first entered the Grid. The Muggle world was as alien to them as the magical one was to her.

Ruth ended up closest to the phone itself and Amy squeezed herself in after. ‘Can you dial six, two, four, four, two?’ the girl asked. She could not be very old yet, not even really out of her teens, Ruth thought. Yet she had held her own in this line of work. That had to count for something.

The intelligence analyst did as she was asked and dialled the number. ‘Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.’

Ruth had been telling herself that it was stupid to expect that things would go as she was used to, but that this voice came from seemingly nowhere, that was startling. For a moment she actually thought that there was someone standing next to her, but a quick glance over the shoulder made it clear that there was no one there and Ruth felt immediately rather stupid. At least Amy had the decency not to notice or pretend not to notice.

The young magical desk spook was calm and composed as she answered. ‘Amy Hamilton, Auror Department. I am here with Ruth Evershed, MI-5, to investigate a matter of national security.’

‘Thank you,’ the disembodied voice said. It reminded Ruth of the kind of woman who told the frustrated people at train stations that their train was delayed and that the next train to Exeter would depart from platform five instead of the normal one. ‘Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.’

There was a clatter in the metal chute for the return coins, but instead of coins Ruth found a badge in it. _Ruth Evershed, MI-5, Investigator_. She arched an eyebrow at it. ‘This is automatic, isn’t it?’

The female voice in the box said something about submitting to a search and registering, but Ruth did not really hear it, because Amy answered her question. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘I’ve never really wondered about it, but I believe it is the Magical Maintenance guys’ job to keep this functioning.’

The telephone box descended into darkness and Ruth could feel both nerves and anticipation as they went deeper and deeper underground. Amy kept her composure, but it was obvious from the way she behaved that she was nervous as well, but Ruth would not press her if she did not want to talk about it. She could however offer. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

The girl flashed her a reassuring smile that did not quite reach her eyes by the light of the telephone box. ‘You may find that some people will not be too kind to you.’ She bit her lip. ‘Because you are a Muggle.’

Ruth repressed both the urge to take this as an insult and the urge to say that she was used to unkindness from working with Miss Myers for some months now. But she was made of tougher stuff and could deal with it. Insults she could swallow. She merely hoped no wizard would hex her while she was here. Amy’s behaviour seemed to imply that the prejudice was stronger than she might have realised at first.

She would have pondered this longer had the trip down not come to an end then. The telephone box was now in a large hall with a lot of fireplaces. There were people in it, but they had come after the rush hour and it was not as crowded as the intelligence analyst imagined it could be. And that was probably a good thing too.

They left the box as soon as it had properly halted and then followed her protégée through the hall to a desk at the end of it. They passed a fountain that was the main source of noise here, at this time of day anyway. If her little investigations were worth anything, then there were hundreds of people employed here.

‘Good morning,’ Amy said to the man behind the desk. He was dressed in what appeared to be robes, which apparently were the wizard fashion if the email from Auror Weasley about stains in his best robes that he could not seem to remove was anything to go by. It were only snippets of information she had access to, but Ruth had not ended up where she had by being stupid. She could connect dots. That didn’t change the fact that this was a strange world with rules and customs that she did not understand. And that made her very ill at ease indeed.

The wizard had been reading a newspaper with a moving picture – that seemed to be a wizarding thing – of a tall man giving a speech. _Minister for Magic Opens New Wing of St. Mungo’s_ , the headline read. In a strange way it was reassuring that some things were not so different from the world as Ruth knew it at all. Their important people did occasionally do something as normal as opening a hospital and their terrorists were not that different from the usual headaches Muggle Britain suffered from. It made her feel a little more comfortable.

‘Morning, Miss Hamilton,’ the wizard said, his face lighting up as he recognised her. The bored expression he bore before vanished in an instant. ‘I thought you were on a…’ Here he hesitated. ‘A mission?’ he finished eventually.

Amy grimaced. ‘I’m here for research, Lorcan,’ she said. ‘And I am bringing a guest.’

That alerted him to Ruth’s presence. ‘Oh.’ The spy could see the realisation dawn on his face. ‘I didn’t see you, Miss….’ He peeked at the badge on Ruth’s blouse. ‘Evershed. Step over here, please.’

Ruth had no idea what this was about, but there was something unnerving about all this magic around her and while she supposed that the golden rod he waved around her, in a way that betrayed he had done this more than once before, was just the magical equivalent of the equipment they used to check people for weapons and bugs, there was still something off about it.

‘You’re clear,’ he announced. ‘Wand, please, miss.’

‘I haven’t got one,’ she replied. This Lorcan had looked at her badge, but had he not noticed MI-5 behind her name? Or did ordinary wizards know so little about the Muggle world that they did not know what MI-5 was? She could not tell, but some things that Amy had said about prejudice and ignorance and the snippets she had found in the records of emails and phone calls slowly started to make sense. And that did make for a rather terrifying picture. Her people, the non-magical ones, were kept ignorant of the wizarding world on purpose, she now knew. But wizards did not have a good excuse for their ignorance. Many of their jobs demanded that they went out into the normal world from time to time. ‘I am the liaison officer from the Muggle security services,’ she added for good measure. ‘And I am not carrying any weapons.’

The wizard’s eyes almost popped right out of their sockets as he stared at her. ‘We don’t allow Muggles in here,’ he told her. Apparently she had shocked him bad enough to make him forget his manners and the almost hostile tone of voice took her completely by surprise. There was shock to be heard as well, as if her presence was the worst thing that had happened here in years.

‘She is working with the Aurors on a mission,’ Amy snapped at him before Ruth could formulate a coherent reply. ‘And if that is not okay with you, I suggest you take it up with Mr Potter. Or better still, the Minister. Good day.’

She turned on her heels and marched away, leaving Ruth little choice but to follow the girl towards the lifts. It was obvious that Amy’s blood was boiling. Ruth herself was still too busy wondering about what had just happened. The young man – she guessed him to be in his early twenties – had seemed nice to her, right up to the moment he had found out she was non-magical. Prejudiced indeed.

‘He’s not a bad person,’ Amy said. She stabbed the button for the lift. ‘He’s just a pure-blood who’s heard far too much nonsense about wizard superiority. His uncle was a Death Eater, went to Azkaban for it, but Lorcan was actually nice to me. He was a few years above me in Hogwarts, in Ravenclaw as well, and always prepared to help with my homework. Really clever too. And I can’t figure how he can be so seriously stupid when it comes to Muggles.’ It did not take an expert to realise that this got to her. ‘It’s like that with all those pure-bloods,’ she complained. ‘They may be nicer to Muggle-borns these days, and some of them only because they have to if they don’t want end up social pariahs, but when it comes to Muggles…’ She stabbed the button again. ‘It’s almost as if they can’t seem to help themselves!’

It was only now that Ruth started to understand something of the problems the wizarding world was facing in relation to the normal world. Rather than to say that it did not matter, she kept her silence as they ascended to level two, where the voice announced that the Wizengamot Registration Services were situated, which was what they had come for.

She tried not to let it get to her, but she felt the looks people threw in her direction. Few were sympathetic, few were curious, but most were simply hostile and unpleasant. Despite all the research she had done on the magical community, she could not have predicted this. Or maybe she could, because she remembered well enough what had happened when the Aurors had first arrived. Julius Burke, the tallest of the lot, had glared at Zaf when he had tried to shake his hand and had then demonstratively done a step back to show that he thought Zaf far below him, not worth it to shake his far superior hand.

It gave her a desperate urge to run in the opposite direction, but she had a task to do here and so she blocked out the unwelcome notion of the wizards around her and focused on the sheaf of parchment she was sorting through in an altogether dusty room of the Administration Services. It was more of an archive, Ruth thought, but nothing like a normal one, if only because things were not written on paper, but on parchment. And the words on them were written with a quill rather than a pen. These wizards may think themselves superior, but in some things they were far behind the times.

There were far more magical Blacks in the twentieth century than she would have even believed possible. All of them seemed to have unusual names. Suddenly Lysandra Black would fit in well with this family. She ploughed through birth certificates for what felt like an age, while Amy was trying to see if she featured on the student lists of Hogwarts, although, she said, if she wasn’t on those that proved nothing, because the Black family had apparently produced a fair number of so-called Squibs. The young Auror had explained that although it did not happen often, some magical couples produced children without magic. The Black family had been the kind of family who would disown any child that did not have the gift on which they so prided themselves. It seemed like a very cruel kind of world and the more time Ruth spent in it, the less alluring it became.

 _But you have a job to do_ , she reminded herself. Harry himself had tasked her with it and she would not go back without results. If they found Lysandra Simmons, née Black, here, then that could be the breakthrough they were hoping for.

And so she sorted through birth certificates until her eyes hurt and all of those things started to look the same to her. They had established that Lysandra would probably have been between twenty and forty when she had Andrew Simmons, which would place her birth between the early twenties and early forties of the twentieth century, with a five years margin on both sides. That were a lot of Blacks and a lot of birth certificates. She did notice though that, even though there had been a lot of Blacks, the family seemed to have died out in the last half of the last century. Now the name did not even exist anymore; the male line was extinct. Maybe the war was to blame for that.

It was almost five o’clock and the librarian was starting to send them pointed looks in a very unsubtle attempt to make them leave. Ruth pretended not to see it. She was not leaving here until she had what she came for, even if that meant that she would spend the night in this dusty room. She gave one look at the name Alphard Black and then moved on to the next one, only to find the name Lysandra Black almost jumping off the parchment on which it was written.

‘Amy, I think I have her,’ she said.

‘Merlin’s stinking beard,’ the young witch muttered angrily at the same time. She only realised that Ruth had been talking to her a moment later. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

‘Lysandra Black,’ Ruth said. ‘Born the twenty-second of September 1936, daughter of Pollux Black and Irma Black, née Crabbe. The date fits.’

‘And she was a Squib,’ Amy said. ‘She must have been. I’ve been looking at student names of Hogwarts between 1930 and 1960, and there are a lot of Blacks, but her name wasn’t on those lists. But if you found her…’ She pondered for a moment. ‘Ruth, do you think we could make a family tree with all those certificates? See who her closest relatives are?’

Playing with parchment like that was not usually in Ruth’s job description. She liked working with computers better, but the thrill of being on to something made her agree, even if the librarian’s looks got more sour by the minute, especially when he saw what they were doing. Ruth pretended not to see him.

Amy’s enthusiasm helped her in focussing. Enthusiasm might not be the right word though. She was like a terrier after a bone as she helped Ruth rearrange the parchments, creating a family tree on the table. They shoved all the other things aside to make room and Ruth sorted through the parchments while Amy laid them in the correct spots.

‘That’s it!’ she said half an hour later, undeniably triumphant, stabbing her finger at a birth certificate that at first glance seemed to belong to a niece or nephew of Lysandra’s. Ruth peeked a bit closer and read the name Bellatrix Black.

‘Who is she?’ she asked.

‘Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black,’ Amy answered excitedly, a twinkle in her eyes now that they were on the scent. ‘She was a Death Eater, but was killed at the end of the Second Wizarding War.’

‘Lestrange?’ Ruth asked. What was this all, a bloody family party? ‘Was she Rabastan’s wife?’

Amy shook her head. ‘His brother’s. Rodolphus was married to Bellatrix. He’s still in Azkaban as far as I’m aware.’

It was a snippet, a vague link, and most of the people who could give any answers to the questions this snippet of intelligence had conjured up, were either dead, imprisoned or the very terrorists they were hunting. It was frustrating beyond belief. ‘Amy, did Simmons’s file mention if his parents were deceased?’ There was no such thing as getting the information from the horse’s mouth and if Lysandra was still alive – which she might be, because seventy was not that old – then she might be able to tell them more. Because for some reason it seemed highly unlikely that wizards, who thought themselves so superior to Muggles, would work together with them even if they were relatives. There had to be something they had overlooked somewhere. With all these confusing parchments that wizards called an administration, that was not unlikely.

Amy frowned as she tried to remember. ‘I think his father died three years ago from a heart attack, but it said nothing about his mother.’

Ruth nodded. ‘Then I think we should find her.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not how sure how well I wrote Ruth, but I hope it wasn't too bad. Lysandra Black is my own creation, invented for this story. The rest of the Black family is canon as far as I know and it took an awful lot of work to research it all and make it work. I really hope I didn't make any mistakes with that, but if I did, feel free to point them out to me.
> 
> Anyway, next time we'll be checking in with Robert and Zaf as they will pay our dear Mrs Simmons, née Black, a little visit. Next time will not be next week however, because I'll be on holiday then, but I'll be back the week after that. Sorry about that.
> 
> Please review? I'd love to hear what you thought about this.


	13. Robert West II

Robert did not like it. Now that was nothing new. And he had said as much to Zaf, who was now navigating the car they were in to Manchester. The car itself made the wizard uncomfortable, because it was so obviously a Muggle invention and it had none of the magical protection or gadgets the magical community tended to issue their cars with these days. Or maybe his unease was just the natural result of not being used to Muggle transport. The last time Robert had spent a longer time in the Muggle world was during the Second Wizarding War, when his family and he had been in hiding for months. But even then his father had used spells every now and then. This was not the case now.

And it was years and years ago anyway. Since then he had spent most of his time in the wizarding world, first at Hogwarts and later at the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic. Magic had become something normal to him, as natural as breathing. It was a part of who he was and now the Muggle world was almost as bewildering to him as it was to Julius. Almost.

Robert thought this assignment still as foolish as he had done when they had begun this operation a few days ago. Well, the operation itself was not foolish of course, but the fact that he was with Section D was. He could be of so much more use in the Aurors Headquarters or, if that really was not an option, then his wand would have given these people a major advantage. Of course that was out of the question and that was why they were in this car, wasting valuable time driving to Manchester the Muggle way when they could have Flooed or Apparated there in no time at all. But Mr Pearce’s icy glare had stopped him from pressing the point. He was still without his wand, his most important weapon, and he did value his head. Harry Pearce had given every impression of wanting to bite it off.

As did Zaf. He seemed nice at first, but gradually he had become more taciturn and chagrined, until Robert thought it better to keep conversation to a bare minimum. That had made this particular drive rather awkward and unpleasant. But Mrs Lysandra Simmons, née Black, lived in Manchester and it was necessary that someone talked to her, so Robert and Zaf had been dispatched to carry out the interview, to see if Simmons’s mother could shed some light on this increasingly complicated operation.

And maybe this was what annoyed Robert the most. His colleagues did well with Section D. Amy had unearthed Andrew Simmons’s link with the magical world by finding his mother’s maiden name in his file. Merlin’s beard, even Julius seemed to do a good job of it  under the guidance of that snappy Myers woman, because he had been the one to find Rabastan Lestrange’s wand in the flat. It was him, Robert West, who had been gloriously incapable of contributing anything even remotely useful to the mission and that left him not amused with the whole thing. Good grief, the spies even seemed to be thinking higher of Julius, who had met them with insult, than of him. It had been Julius who had been sent on a sensitive undercover mission, not Robert. No, he was sent to interrogate an old woman about her possible connections to Death Eaters. And she was no danger to anyone, because she was a Squib. Amy had briefed him and told him she had never attended Hogwarts at all. It would at least explain why no one had ever heard of her. The Blacks had been the kind of family that would hide the fact that they had a Squib for a child, especially when that child had disgraced the family even further by marrying a Muggle.

Zaf made his way to Mrs Simmons’s house with the aid of his Muggle GPS system and the disembodied boring female voice directing him to go ahead, turn left or turn right was starting to annoy Robert.

‘Almost there,’ the spy reported curtly. He seemed to have taken Robert’s suggestions about the possibility of using magic on this operation as a personal insult, an accusation that his preferred methods were not good enough. While there was little use arguing that point, in hindsight it may not have been such a good idea to put that truth into words. They had made Zaf’s initial cheerful mood disappear faster than Robert could say magic and after two solid days in Thames House that had not changed one iota.

Robert settled for a simple nod and just sat back as Zaf steered the car through the last couple of streets and parked in front of a small house with an equally small garden with some rose bushes. The house itself was well kept and neat, with wisteria cascading down the front of it. It looked cosy and welcoming.

Robert got out of the car and gave his attire a once over. Zaf and he were posing as policemen today, interviewing Mrs Simmons about her son’s recent activities, hoping that would turn up something they did not already know. And if they could do it without “making that old woman get a heart attack,” in Harry Pearce’s words, then they were allowed to reveal that they knew about her connections to the magical world. At her age, it would probably be best to leave such shocking matters out though.

So fortunately for them Lysandra Simmons did not seem like the type of woman prone to suffer a heart attack at the first difficult question. They were met by an elderly, but proud looking lady with inquisitive grey eyes and white hair that she wore in a tight bun in her neck. Her gaze reminded Robert remarkably of Professor McGonagall when she suspected people were up to no good, a stare Robert unfortunately had been on the receiving end of quite a lot. It felt as if she was looking right through him, not a feeling he liked very much.

Zaf was the one to put an end to Mrs Simmons’s scrutinising gaze. ‘Mrs Simmons?’ he inquired. He only continued when she had nodded her confirmation. ‘Detective Inspector Khalid Ibrahim and my colleague Constable James Woods from Manchester police. Could we come in, please?’

Zaf phrased it as politely and non-threateningly as he could, but it was obvious that Mrs Simmons was alarmed to hear it, even if it was only for a very short moment. Then she was back in control. A Squib she may be, Robert pondered, but her very mannerisms gave her away as a member of a pure-blood family. Composed, somewhat haughty and alert Lysandra Simmons was the school example of a member of an old magical family. She missed the usual accompanying arrogance though.

She first studied Zaf’s face and then Robert’s again. ‘It’s about Andrew again, isn’t it?’ The elderly woman sounded a bit resigned and weary, as if she had been through this routine far too often to care anymore. ‘Come in.’

The two of them were waved inside and told to take the last door right on the end of the corridor while the woman closed the front door behind them. Zaf, as the senior officer, took the lead. Robert took the time to study his surroundings. The hallway itself was what the outside of the house had already suggested: neat and tidy. There was a small table with a vase of flowers and an umbrella stand. There was a single painting on the wall, depicting an elderly man with a stern school teacher look. The painting looked like it was several decades old, judging by the man’s clothes, but he was dressed in wizard robes rather than Muggle clothing. He was however not moving, suggesting this was a Muggle painting after all. He had already moved on when he could have sworn he saw the portrayed man scratch his nose from the corner of his eye.

So, Lysandra Simmons may be a Squib, but apparently that did not mean that she had lost all contact with the magical community. That opinion was only strengthened when he entered the living room. To a Muggle it would look like any ordinary living room, but a wizard would notice the small differences. There was a radio playing, which was innocent enough, were it not that the song was one of Celestina Warbeck, a singer Robert recognised immediately because he had developed an acute allergy to her voice when his mother, once introduced to magical music by his father, started to like her music, if it could be called that. The plant on the coffee table was not entirely non-magical either. In fact, it looked a lot like a Flitterbloom. Its leaves were swaying slightly in a very non-existent wind.

He was about to whisper this to Zaf, who would be unable to read the signs the way Robert would, but Lysandra Simmons had already followed him into the room and since they were supposed to be Muggle police, he could hardly say something that only wizards would know, or he’d blow their cover. And contrary to popular belief, Robert West was not an idiot.

‘What has he done this time?’ Mrs Simmons demanded when she had settled them on the sofa with a cup of tea. Elderly woman she was, but she was sharper than some of the students in Hogwarts, a whole lot sharper. She wouldn’t miss a spell and it started to dawn on him that interrogating this woman might be slightly more complicated than he had previously anticipated. And while part of him could not help but feel slightly alarmed at the notion, it also finally made him feel like he was doing something useful. His magical background could be a help for once rather than a hindrance, as it had been these past few days.

‘We are making inquiries about an incident that took place four weeks ago in this town,’ Zaf began, playing it down, because the Ministry had been wiping minds left, right and centre after the debacle, effectively making sure that no Muggles had any idea of what had happened. The Muggle police would not know about it and hence they had to be careful not to slip up and betray that they knew something more than the other Muggles, namely that there had been a gas leak that had damaged buildings and had blown up an entire street. ‘I am sure you have heard of the gas leak four weeks ago?’

Mrs Simmons gave the curtest of nods. ‘I have.’ Her eyes narrowed and Robert thought it would be safe to say that she already knew where this was going.

‘We have solid reasons to believe that this was more than a mere gas leak and that your son was involved,’ Zaf informed her.

Lysandra Simmons did not demonstrate any signs of shock. Her face was like the blank page of an unwritten book. It was almost, Robert observed, as if she had expected something like this. And that was not a good sign. True, Andrew Simmons had gotten himself into more than one tight spot over the years, but he had never been involved in acts of terrorism before. The Manchester debacle surely could be categorised as such. Could it be that Mrs Simmons was in on the whole thing or had she simply heard too much about her son’s crimes to get worked up over it anymore? Robert could not tell.

After a short silence Zaf went on. It was supposed to be Robert’s job to take notes, which was why he had a notepad and a pen in hand, but so far the interviewee had hardly said anything at all that was even worth noting. Besides, they would get a full record of the conversation with the audio bug that had been hidden in the button of his jacket by Malcolm. That was one of the things that was actually better in the Muggle world, because Robert could not think of a magical equivalent for it.

‘He was seen at the time and place of the explosion, along with a few other people,’ the spook went on. He was talking in gentle tones as to not shock the woman opposite him. ‘I know this may be hard for you, but do you have any idea where we might find your son?’

This did trigger her into a reaction. ‘Even if he has fallen in with the wrong crowd, do you really think I would betray my own child, Detective Inspector?’ Her tone was nothing anywhere near gentle.

‘If we find him, we could find out if he is involved or if he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ The spy was still impeccably polite, but Robert had been on the receiving end of the man’s impatience enough these last few days to recognise it when he happened upon it. ‘Mrs Simmons, lives were lost in the explosion. It might be that your son is innocent, in which case he might even be a victim of the bombers himself, maybe forced into planting it. Either way, we _need_ to find him.’ Zaf had to be making this up as he went along, because the wizard could not remember this as a part of the script they had discussed.

Mrs Simmons’s expression was however the school example of unyielding. ‘Have you not tried his house or his wife’s?’ she snapped. ‘My son does not always tell me where he is, Mr Ibrahim. Do _you_ make regular calls to your parents to tell them where you are?’

‘I do not think my personal life is a concern of yours, Mrs Simmons.’ Zaf too was dismissive now. ‘It is my job to ask questions such as these when we suspect that we may be dealing with a deliberate act of terrorism on British soil. Andrew Simmons has not shown up at his home or at his wife’s. If you have any clues as to where he might be…?’

Lysandra Simmons moved uncomfortably in her seat. Robert read it as the old woman being torn between doing her civic duty and protecting her only child and Robert feared she would lean towards the last option, seeing how protective she seemed of him already.

But then something caught his attention. Mrs Simmons had moved a little, enabling the wizard to see a piece of wood sticking out of the pocket of her skirt. He blinked and leaned a little closer, seemingly to pick up his tea cup. He needn’t have bothered with precautions though, because Lysandra was keeping her eyes on Zaf, apparently trying to shame him into backing off with her eyes alone, even if the spook did not seem to be obliging.

Well, he would not be complaining anytime soon, because this did give him the opportunity to carry out an investigation of his own. Because pieces of woods stuck in pockets usually meant only one thing in wizarding houses: it was a wand and the owner was magical. But he needed to be sure first, or else he could blow their covers for nothing and that was bound to damage his career prospects quite seriously. So he took some precautions by leaning over very carefully and pretending to drink his tea while he peeked over the edge of the cup to get a closer look at the wood that was still very visibly sticking out of the woman’s pocket.

It was a dark wood, relatively long, he guessed, taking into account how deep the pocket was. And it was well polished. Now why would a Muggle or a Squib have such a thing in her possession? The answer was that she would have absolutely no business having it.

‘You’re a witch.’ The words had slipped out of his mouth before he had the chance to stop himself from doing so. But right now he was too preoccupied by his new discovery that keeping in control of his own mouth was not too high on the agenda. His mind was working overtime, because this could steer the operation in whole new directions. They had assumed that Andrew Simmons was a Muggle, but this realisation, that his mother at least was a witch, changed everything. His father had once told Robert that the gene that passed on magic was strong and that resulted in the fact that most children born of one magical parent and one non-magical would almost always inherit the magic. Usually this was a good thing of course. Right now, it was the ideal recipe for disaster.

Lysandra swivelled her head around, a little startled by the Gryffindor’s declaration. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. ‘You are no Muggle policeman,’ she countered. If she was very shocked, then she did a very good job of hiding it. She looked at Zaf. ‘He is.’ She continued her scrutiny of Zaf’s face. ‘And he knows about you. Curious.’ Simmons’s mother truly did sound intrigued.

‘You were never at Hogwarts,’ Robert said. ‘We assumed you were a Squib.’

Lysandra cackled. There was no other word for it. ‘So, you’ve run background checks on me. I was at Durmstrang, young man,’ she said in a condescending voice. ‘Hogwarts’s standards of magic were far too low at the time.’

 _Meaning they admitted too many Muggle-borns_ , Robert thought venomously. Although, that could not be entirely true, because Lysandra Black, pure-blood witch, had married a Muggle. She must not hate them as much as the rest of her family, but to be honest, not all the mystery around this woman was solved yet. Quite the contrary actually. The more he heard, the more mysterious she became.

‘I see,’ he said, even if he didn’t.

The cackle returned in full force. ‘You do not understand, do you, young man? You do not understand why I married a Muggle?’

‘The same reason why my father married my Muggle mother, I imagine,’ Robert countered. He knew that in this job he should never divulge personal information  or get too emotionally involved in an operation, but the woman had just issued something that felt remarkably like a challenge and he responded to it before his mind had fully caught up with him. ‘Because you fell in love.’

There was a distant look in Lysandra Simmons’s eyes now. ‘And how my parents hated it,’ she reminisced. ‘A witch of the Black family who married a simple plumber from Manchester. A disgrace, I was. I was burned off the family tree the very same day, I believe. But John was a good man.’ There was a defensive edge to her voice now, but even though she was still lost in her memories. An old ladies’ ailment, his grandmother had once called it. ‘And he did not care about the magic.’ She suddenly came back in the here and now, on full alert. ‘But you knew that already, didn’t you, young man?’

‘We believed you were a Squib,’ Robert repeated. He was surprised Zaf kept out of the conversation, but for now the spy just seemed content to watch. His expression was as alert as Lysandra’s though. He did not miss a trick. ‘But your wand suggests otherwise.’ As did her words from just now. ‘And if you’re a witch, then there’s a very high chance that your son is a wizard.’ And if that was the case, this operation might become even more complicated and, more importantly, far more dangerous.

Lysandra did not deny it and her silence was all the confirmation the Auror and spy needed.

‘He’s a wizard?’ Zaf checked. The expression on his face was familiar; Robert had seen it directed at him more times than he’d liked.

Again there was no confirmation from Mrs Simmons. All of a sudden she had gone back to the defensive, not saying a word and the half-blood wizard got the distinct feeling she had only answered his questions because he had taken her by surprise and her guard had been down. It was not down now.

‘Mrs Simmons, please?’ Robert pleaded. ‘There are innocent lives at stake.’ He had not been present during the Manchester debacle itself – he was much too junior for that – but he had been there after and he had seen the horrors that had been committed there, the horrible aftermath of the fight that had killed several Aurors and Death Eaters, and about two dozen Muggles who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And, although they did not yet know why this group was doing what they did, there was little doubt they would do it all again before long if the Aurors and spies failed to capture the ones responsible. And that was not an option. ‘You’ve read the paper, haven’t you?’ he insisted when no reaction appeared to be forthcoming. ‘I understand you love your son.’ In fact, he didn’t. He completely failed to understand how anyone could love a person who killed people for Merlin only knew what reason, as Andrew Simmons had done on more than one occasion. ‘But we have a duty to the British state, both Muggle and magical, to protect lives. Your son is endangering those. You have seen the pictures, have you not?’ He shook his head. There had been pictures in the _Daily Prophet_ , although Merlin knew how they had come by those. ‘I was there after the fighting,’ he went on. ‘And the pictures do not show even a tenth of how horrible it really was. We have a job to prevent such thing from happening, Mrs Simmons.’

The old woman leaned back in her chair, shaking her head wearily. ‘And you think you stand a chance this time?’ Robert would bet that she knew they were in the right, but she did not have a lot of faith in it or them. She looked at Robert. ‘Do you really think you will put an end to this by involving MI-5?’

Zaf shot up as if he had been stung by a wasp. ‘How do you know?’ he demanded. ‘How do you know MI-5 is involved?’ Robert shared the sentiment. Lysandra Simmons had spoken the words as if it was a fact, something she did not even doubt was happening. And there was something infinitely wrong with that, because this operation was supposed to be top secret. No one in either MI-5 or Aurors Headquarters would ever dare to divulge such sensitive information, least of all to the suspect’s mother.

Now it was Lysandra Simmons’s turn to be surprised. She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘It was in the paper this morning, of course,’ she said, producing aforementioned Daily Prophet and laying it on the coffee table. _Ministry Asks Muggle Security Service for Help on Manchester Debacle_ , the headline read. Underneath was a photograph of the Minister and Mr Potter meeting Harry Pearce and Adam Carter in some small pub. Robert quickly cast a look on the name of the reporter who wrote it, not at all surprised to find the name of Rita Skeeter at the top of the accompanying article. He felt himself go rather cold on the inside.

Zaf had already dug up his mobile. ‘Harry,’ he said as soon as it was answered. ‘We’ve got a very serious problem…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a day early, I know, but I’ll be out of town tomorrow the whole day, so here it is already. Next week’s update will be Thursday, as usual.  
> Next time: Harry Pearce is not amused. Until then, please review. I love to hear your opinions. Is the plot more or less believable, what did you think about Lysandra Simmons and are the characters in character?


	14. Harry Pearce III

Harry Pearce was furious and he had every right to be. It was less than an hour after Zaf’s phone call, but he wasted no time in going off to deal with this. The sooner this leak was plugged, the better it would be for all the parties involved.

A press leak, a bloody press leak, every intelligence officer’s nightmare. And this had the potential to become one of his worst nightmares in quite a long time. Harry had never been overly enamoured of that pathetic excuse for a newspaper that was the _Daily Prophet_ ; in his opinion it printed the truth only on very rare occasions and objectiveness did not seem to be a word that featured in its reporters’ dictionaries. Of course the only time, the only bloody time, the _Prophet_ did print the truth, it had to be about a top classified deal with HM’s secret service that was dealing with what rapidly becoming the single most dangerous terrorist organisation of the last ten years. Apparently there was even a photograph splashed all over the front page.

Did these people not have one ounce of common sense? Harry had already known that stupidity was a particular wizards’ trait and politicians seemed to be suffering severe cases of it as well, but this  trumped everything he had witnessed so far and that included the recent foolish notion of having Section D be joined by hopeless Auror recruits.

Fortunately Harry knew exactly how to deal with things like that and it would not be for the first time he’d go to the Ministry either, in spite of the rule that forbade the non-magical population of Britain from entering it. The trick was to make it look like he belonged there and as long as he kept moving and did not stop to talk to people, he should get away with it. Most people were too nervous about doing something illegal to really make it look like they had every right to be there, but Harry had been in the service for thirty odd years and had done more undercover operations than he cared to count. This was hardly one of the most difficult things he had ever done.

Oh, he thought he would be admitted to the Ministry if he explained the situation, but the procedures would take time and he did not have time to waste when he had a major press leak on his hands and, if Zaf’s information was correct, one more “wand-waving weirdo” to add to the mix. And he for one found it impossible to believe that Kingsley had not known a single thing about either of those two matters. Sodding wizards with their don’t-tell-the-Muggles-everything-of-relevance-in-case-they-can’t-cope-policy.

The visitor’s entrance had not changed one bit since he had last used it during the nineties, which was a good thing, because that meant that he could let himself in. Strangely enough wizards did not seem to have realised yet that all it took for the non-magical populace to get into the Ministry of Magic was to dial the number that some idiot had scribbled on the telephone in the box itself about a decade earlier. If they had been aware of it, they would have changed it a long time ago, Harry was sure.

‘Harry Pearce, Section D, MI-5, here for an urgent meeting with the Minister for Magic,’ he said when the disembodied, bored sounding female voice asked him to state his name and business.

A badge was printed, reading _Harry Pierce_ , thanks to the complete inability of the magical community to spell his name correctly, another thing that had not changed in the slightest. The female voice babbled on about submitting to a search and attaching the badge to his clothes. The head of Section D had no wish or intention to do the first, but he complied with the latter. If however the badge was kept out of sight slightly by his overcoat, that was purely coincidental.

The entrance hall was as good as empty when he entered. It could both be a good and a bad thing. He lacked the possibility to disappear in the crowd now and he, in his clearly Muggle attire, would stand out more when there were no dozens of other people to hide amongst. On the other hand he was now capable of getting to the other side of the place faster and there were decidedly less people to ask him questions he did not want to answer. So far the few people who were here had more important things on their mind than to notice his presence and he was perfectly content to walk through unseen and unstopped.

The spy only stopped at the stand that sold the _Daily Prophet_. He had subscribed to it long ago, but he had left home in a hurry that morning before the paper had been delivered, which was why he had missed out on the press leak until Zaf had phoned him about it. And if he was about to give Kingsley a piece of his mind, it would be best to establish the damage for himself first.

The wizard who was supposed to be selling the cursed newspaper was seemingly too absorbed by his own copy to realise that he had a customer and not just any customer, but a by now very annoyed looking Section Head.

‘Are you going to sell me one, son, or are you waiting for King Arthur to come back to Britain before you’re going to look up?’

That seemed to land the message home that there was someone standing hardly a meter away from him. The young man looked startled for only a second, but then the bored disinterest graced his face again. It sometimes seemed to be today’s youth’s default setting. ‘One Knut,’ he announced. His tone of voice indicated that Harry had disturbed him in the middle of some very serious business, something that was altogether difficult to believe.

Harry had long since realised that when dealing with wizards it was not a stupid idea to be equipped with some of their money, even though it was particularly difficult to get one’s hands on. In this case however he had relieved Amy Hamilton’s wallet of some of its spare change, making sure that her temporary boss could pay for his purchase.

‘Thank you,’ the wizard said as he handed Harry his paper. That was the first time he even looked up and that seemed to trigger a tiny blip of recognition on his radar. ‘Hang on, you’re the…’

Harry did not wait for him to finish. He had already marched off in the direction of the lifts before the newspaper seller had completed his sentence. The last thing he needed now was to give that kid any confirmation for the notion that had seemingly only just occurred to him. There had been enough leaks for one day, and it would be pleasant to go unnoticed for as long as he could.

Although Harry had a fairly good idea what exactly was on that dreaded front page, provided to him by both Zaf’s panicked phone call and the paper seller’s reaction to him just now, he waited with seeing for himself until he was safely inside an otherwise empty lift.

Once however he had laid eyes on it, it was difficult to miss what Zaf, by all accounts one of the more level-headed officers on his team, had gotten all worked up about. The picture, that took up most of the upper half of the page, showed both Mr Potter and Kingsley as well as Harry and Adam. The four of them were in the pub, shaking hands, obviously in the final stages of discussing the deal. The description under it mentioned the names of the wizards, but fortunately only referred to the spies as “two officers from the Muggle security service, MI-5.” It could have been worse, not much, but it could most certainly have been worse. Neither Harry nor Adam was an operative in the field during this op and as long as the officers who were, were kept out of the press, he could easily deal with this.

He changed his mind again once he started reading the actual article. They weren’t dealing with a press leak here; it was more like a bloody security breach. The reporter who had written the article, a woman by the name of Rita Skeeter, seemed to know every detail of what had been discussed, including the names and some of the personal details of the three recruits that were now temporarily on his team and one of whom was currently on a highly sensitive undercover operation. Thirty years in the service had made him practically immune to cold shivers, but this article brought him pretty close to one. Good grief, that reporter could blow the entire operation right out of the water before it had even properly started.

He pondered what he knew about Rita Skeeter, but his knowledge about her was scarce. From his subscription to the _Daily Prophet_ he had learned that she seemed to have an unsavoury talent for dishing up the dirt on just about every prominent person in magical society. He vaguely recalled that she had only recently made some Magical Law Enforcement man high up the tree resign for taking bribes.

It did not explain how she had come to learn all the intimate details of the arrangement and it did certainly not explain her claim to have been present at the meeting, since the pub had been entirely empty. Sodding wizards with their magical tricks. Fortunately for him the lift remained blessedly free from the presence of more wand-wavers, which saved him the need to talk to people to explain his presence.

The Minister’s office was on the first level, all the way up. It had been years since he had last been here. It must be shortly after the Second Wizarding War, to make sure that all threats had been neutralised and that wizards and Muggles – awful word – could go back to their preferred state of not being in touch. Every meeting that had taken place since had been on neutral ground, which was strongly desired by both parties. It would seem that neither was happy with Harry’s presence in the Ministry.

The idea that Kingsley was not in his office had crossed his mind, but it would seem that he was in luck today. The door to the office was slightly ajar and through it the Minister for Magic could be seen working on what appeared to be some report or other. There was a deep frown etched into his forehead, but altogether he looked far too relaxed for the current situation.

That made Harry’s blood boil. Kingley’s complete inability to keep secrets a secret – Oliver Mace’s observation that these days a secret was something you only told one person at a time was not far off the mark apparently – and then have the guts to be so calm about it, that was something that was entirely beyond Harry, but maybe you had to be a politician to do something like this. This Rita Skeeter could not only endanger this entire operation, but also his officers’ lives – because for all intents and purposes that was what they were for the duration of this op – by splashing their names all over the sodding front page. She was practically handing the Death Eaters their victory on the proverbial silver platter.

He followed the proud Section D tradition of not knocking and just charged in, slamming the paper on the desk before Kingsley even had the chance to notice his arrival. Several parchments were blown off the table with the sheer force of it.

‘What is this?’ he demanded.

To his satisfaction the usually unshakable Kingsley Shacklebolt all but jumped from his chair, but he recovered his composure quickly and settled for a stern look. ‘Harry,’ he acknowledged. ‘How did you get in here?’

At any other time Harry might have felt a little smug about his ability to puzzle the former Auror, but not today. ‘Your lot do not have the monopoly on doing magical appearances,’ he replied curtly. ‘What is that?’ He stabbed his finger at the newspaper. ‘And exactly _how_ did this Skeeter woman find out about a top classified operation?’

Kingsley stole a brief glance at the article and the accompanying picture and then sighed wearily. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. It was almost, Harry realised, as if he had known about it since this morning, long before Harry had become aware of it and that realisation did nothing whatsoever to calm his very tried nerves. He had known from experience that wizards did not have keeping their non-magical counterparts informed very high on their to-do list, but this beat it all.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Harry said. ‘Don’t you bloody well dare to tell me that you already knew about this and failed to report it to me.’

‘Harry, I don’t think…’ Kingsley began.

The head of Section D did not give him the chance to finish that sentence. ‘ _That_ is becoming increasingly apparent,’ he commented angrily. It had been a while since he had last lost his temper in the presence of a politician, but he was now being so obstructed by the wizards’ unequalled criminal stupidity that it was setting his teeth on edge. And the knowledge that this security breach could kill this operation faster than the Death Eaters’ preferred killing curse, effectively making sure that they lost every chance to ever getting their hands on their renegade suspects, was not helping him either. Kingsley may not realise, but there were lives at stake here. ‘Do you know how I learned of this?’

‘Harry…’

‘I heard of it when two of my officers’ covers were blown wide open by _this_ article!’ He stabbed his finger at the paper again. ‘Do you have any idea what consequences this will have for my operation?’ Kingsley was not the man to shout – In all the years the spy had known the wizard, he had never as much as raised his voice – a trait of which Harry now took full advantage by voicing his displeasure at the top of his lungs.

‘I understand this is a very unfortunate development,’ the Minister for Magic said in as soothing a voice as he could manage. It almost made Harry feel like a three year old having an irrational temper tantrum. Almost.

‘I am relieved to hear it,’ he snapped. ‘Now, what has been done to contain the damage?’

As much as he wanted to shout abuse at Kingsley for a little longer, that would do nothing to put an end to this recent disaster, would do nothing to save whatever might still be left of this operation. He himself was tempted to keep his Auror recruits strictly on the Grid from now on and let his own field officers do the work, even if that meant pulling Julius out. Ros was a capable officer, if not the most sociable on the team. She could handle that part of the mission on her own. His officer’s safety had to take precedence in this case.

‘Harry, the news is already in the public domain,’ Kingsley reminded him. ‘There is not much I can reasonably do now.’ Harry used to like the Minister for Magic, but this excuse was worthy of a true politician; it was evasive and would solve just about as many problems as asking the terrorists nicely if they would please not blow hundreds of civilians to kingdom come. If the politicians were left to their sodding hay-making, the world could go to hell as long as they got their precious votes and Kingsley was apparently not that different from them after all.

‘Twist the story!’ he said in exasperation. ‘Bring in the Skeeter woman and have her write it. And issue a D-notice to the press once you’ve done that.’ Anyone with the tiniest bit of common sense could have come up with that.

Now it was Kingsley’s turn to shake his head and sigh in exasperation. ‘You’ve never heard of Rita Skeeter, have you? It will take more than that to keep her quiet.’

‘Then discredit her.’ Harry had no idea how it was even possible that this magical community was even still functioning. By all rights it should have descended into chaos long ago, if the Death Eaters had left anything of it to descend into chaos, that was. Suddenly it was not such a miracle anymore to understand why that so-called Lord Voldemort had taken over the Ministry with hardly any effort on his part at all during the Second Wizarding War. ‘Make sure that no one ever again believes a single word she writes.’ For him it was almost a routine job. This was not the first press leak he had to plug, although it did have the potential to become the most serious he’d had to deal with in a long time. ‘Surely you know how to do that?’ Did not every politician learn to play the media?

Clearly not. ‘Up till now the _Daily Prophet_ has always more or less followed the Ministry’s line. Our reporters do not usually have the habit of really interfering with our work.’ Kingsley looked at least ten years older all of a sudden.

‘Usually,’ Harry repeated. ‘Well, then let me deal with it.’ He’d probably have asked to do this anyway, given the Ministry’s appalling inability to keep secrets. Kingsley may be unable to deal with reporters, but Section D was not and by the time they were done with Rita Skeeter, she’d probably be singing MI-5’s praises, and then some.

The Minister nodded. ‘Very well. It would at least give me the time to deal with the all but uprising I’ve got on my hands. You’d be surprised how many people are objecting to this cooperation.’

Being familiar with the wizards’ prejudices against the so-called Muggles, Harry was in fact not very much so. It did however provide him with a nice way to mention the second matter he had come for. ‘Yes, cooperation between your lot and mine does not seem to happen very often,’ he said pleasantly. He was pleased to note that the change in tone of voice took Kingsley completely by surprise. ‘It hasn’t stopped our terrorists from doing it though.’

The man on the other side of the desk shook his head. ‘Harry, we’re working on that, but we have not been able to find out how it is possible.’

Harry raised his eyebrows. Did these people not have lists noting who all the witches and wizards in Britain were and where they lived? ‘You don’t?’ he asked. ‘Well, I do. You see, there don’t seem to be very many Muggles involved at all. The inner circle of your little group seems to be wizards only.’ Phoebe Simmons was not inner circle, he thought, and Henry Downs was clearly more of a tag-along. ‘Andrew Simmons, apparently, also knows how to wave a wand around. But of course you knew this.’

Kingsley seemed to choke on his own tongue. ‘Harry, are you sure?’

Stupid question. ‘Maybe you’ve heard of his mother,’ he went on, not in the mood to feel particularly sorry for the politician’s discomfort. ‘Lysandra Simmons is her name. Of course she only took that surname after she married. Before that her family name was Black. My officers discovered that she is the daughter of Pollux Black and Irma Crabbe, and therefore belonged to the House of Black, one of your headaches in the eighties and nineties, wasn’t it?’

Kingsley looked like he had seen a ghost. ‘You cannot be serious.’

‘You are welcome to go and check out your own archives,’ Harry said. ‘And after that you may contact the officers who interviewed Lysandra Simmons this morning. They’ll readily report to you that she is in fact a witch. And isn’t it so that in a mix of magical and non-magical, the magical always wins out, as your pure-blood propaganda claims? The woman as good as admitted that her son is a wizard.’ He fixed the Minister with as stern a glare as he could muster. ‘Do you try to tell me that you do not have a single record of this?’

Kingsley leaned back in his chair. ‘A lot of records were destroyed during the wars, Harry, especially the last one.’ He shook his head. ‘After the Battle of Hogwarts some Death Eaters still at the Ministry took to destroying a lot of documents recording what had been done during their reign of terror. They were stopped before they could damage it all, but much was lost and that includes some of the lists dealing with the members of the magical community. They were asked to register again, but not all of them apparently did this.’

‘And so Andrew Simmons went completely under your radar,’ Harry finished. As angry as he was, he could not truly hold Kingsley responsible for all of this. ‘I want you to get his mother’s house under surveillance and his wife’s flat as well. Arm’s length, non-intrusive surveillance,’ he added. ‘I do not want him to get wind of things and do a runner on us when he finds out. My team has a credible lead that we’re currently following, so I want your people to stay out of our business, unless we tell them otherwise.’

‘Harry, you can’t ask this!’ the Minister protested. ‘Can’t your people do it?’

He had to remind himself that exploding would not do him any favours. ‘My people are not magical,’ he pointed out. ‘And I was under the impression that we were cooperating on this operation. So far my section has done the bulk of the work. Don’t you agree that it is about time your people get their hands dirty as well?’ At least one good thing might still come from all this mess. It allowed him to call in a few favours after the Ministry of Magic’s latest mess-ups.

The expression on the other’s face told him that he knew that too.

Satisfied that his point had been made and that he would get what he wanted, the head of Section D got up from the chair in which he had seated himself in at some point during the conversation. ‘Keep the places under tight surveillance,’ he instructed. ‘If your people take their eyes off the flat or the house for longer than it takes to blink and something does happen, I will have them put in one of my basement holding cells so fast your head will spin.’ He had turned around, but now turned half back, as if he had only just now remembered something. ‘Speaking of cells, make sure I have Rita Skeeter in one of those within the hour and get someone to deliver the file on her as well. Good day.’

He marched out of the office, pre-empting Kingsley’s feeble protests or announcement that they did not have a file on the Skeeter woman. He would not put it past the wizards to not have such a file, taking into account what else they also did not have. And maybe some optimism could not hurt too much right now. Heaven knew that so far they’d not have much reason for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time Rita Skeeter is brought in for a little chat. That won’t be next week, though, because then I’m stuck in a place without internet, so you’ll unfortunately have to wait two weeks for the next update. Don’t worry, after this interlude things will hopefully and finally go back to normal.  
> In the meantime reviews would be welcome. I’d love to hear your thoughts.


	15. Harry Potter II

Harry Potter walked into the hall of Thames House around three o’clock in the afternoon with both Ron and Hermione in tow. For just a moment it felt like the good old days when the three of them had been inseparable and had done everything together. Admittedly dealing with rogue journalists had never quite made it onto the list of things he had done in his school days. Hermione, however, _had_ done it and it was her experience in such matters that was needed here.

He was almost starting to regret voicing this idea to Kingsley in the first place. At first it had been killing two birds with one stone: they might finally have some progress in the Manchester debacle and three of the worst Auror recruits in magical history would get some decent training. The brilliance of the idea had rapidly started to fade when he had realised that the head of Section D was not as much of a softie as most of the wizards he’d met in his career and that he was in fact a lot like the bulldog Harry had compared him with. He had demanded the operation for himself and had then gone to demand information. What he had been up to since was not entirely clear to him; Muggles worked in different ways than Aurors did. Aurors seldom went undercover, because they had other and more successful ways of getting to their suspects. But he had gone along with it, because this cooperation would hopefully mean that they would finally be able to track down the Death Eaters. All hopes of that though had gone right down the drain the moment he had laid eyes on today’s newspaper.

‘What are we doing here?’ Hermione asked. He had only been able to tell her the bare minimum before he had whisked her away from her work to accompany Ron and him to Thames House. She knew there had been a press leak, but not much else.

Harry brought her up to speed as they were clearing the security. The guards insisted that they left their wands behind as to not interfere with the electronic equipment in the building – the Statute of Secrecy clearly did not apply to MI-5 – and Ron was visibly uncomfortable with it, but he held his tongue, for which Harry was grateful. His best friend surely had grown up since their time at Hogwarts.

‘You want me to use the information about her being an illegal Animagus to stop her from writing again?’ Hermione checked when he was done. ‘Harry, I already did that once. She could have registered for all we know and then it won’t even work.’

‘She hasn’t.’ Ron sounded undeniably triumphant. ‘I checked it myself.’

Once upon a time that may have caused Hermione to do a runner to the archive and check it for herself when Ron said such a thing, but now she just nodded and took his word for it. They had come far since those days. ‘Still, I promised I would leave her alone if she complied with the rules I set her.’

‘We need to stop her from giving away the entire operation to the Death Eaters,’ Harry said. ‘If they realise what we are up to, the lives of my recruits will be in danger.’ As Harry Pearce had already pointed out to Kingsley. The current Minister for Magic didn’t do flustered, but he had come remarkably close to it as he instructed Harry to take the file on Rita Skeeter and take it to the Muggles as soon as he possibly could.

So, that was what he had done. There was just the minor complication that the file held nothing that would get the woman convicted. The information Hermione had in her head was not available in any file, which was why she was here. Harry had learned a thing or two about manipulating and dirty tricks, even if he never lost his loathing of them, in his years in the Auror Department. And it was only logical. Criminals, especially Death Eaters, did not play by the rules, so he needed to sink to their level sometimes to get to them. It was not his preferred method of operating, but it was necessary.

Security phoned to have someone come to escort them to the Grid, same way as it had been done when he had delivered his recruits here only a few days ago. They didn’t need to wait long and then Harry caught sight of his youngest recruit crossing the hall. ‘Afternoon, sir,’ she said, as always impeccably polite to her superiors. ‘Harry, I mean, Mr Pearce has already gone to the interrogation room, but you are welcome to follow the interview, Adam said.’

Harry wondered whether to be relieved or frustrated as they followed Amy to the Grid. Part of him had hoped to be able to be there as they were dealing with the reporter, but another part of him would not go near the woman even if he got paid for it. For some reason she always made him ill at ease. He’d had to deal with her a few times since he had become an Auror and for some reason she always managed to reduce him to that fourteen year old boy who could never find the right words to answer her questions.

The Grid was still the same as it had been a few days ago, with the minor difference that Amy now seemed perfectly at ease here. There was confidence in her every step and she greeted officers she passed as if she had known them for years instead of days. Maybe it was, Harry pondered, because Julius and Robert were nowhere in sight. Normally she was sandwiched between the two of them, trying to keep the peace. She was uncertain of herself and sometimes downright nervous in those situations. This was an entirely different kind of behaviour.

She guided Harry, Ron and Hermione across the Grid to a smaller room with a lot of computer equipment, where two men were sitting, headphones on and eyes fixed on the computer screen. One of them Harry recognised as Adam Carter, but the other, an elderly man, was unfamiliar. Adam put off the headphones when he caught sight of them and extended his hand to Harry. ‘Mr Potter.’

Harry returned the compliment. ‘Mr Carter. May I introduce you to my companions, Ron and Hermione Weasley.’ For some reason it still felt strange to address his friend by her married name.

Adam nodded, but did not introduce his own colleague. ‘Do you have the file?’ If the head of the Auror Department remembered correctly, then Adam Carter was less than thrilled about the idea of working together with wizards, so his lack of manners should come as no surprise. He didn’t think it was just mere rudeness though; the Section Chief sounded stressed and anxious more than rude and that was a feeling Harry himself could understand almost too easily.

‘We have, but Hermione has more on her that is not written down in her file.’ Harry quickly explained the situation.

It was Amy who nodded in understanding. ‘But…’ Some of the trademark nervousness returned. ‘If she has never registered as an Animagus, then that’s illegal,’ she stated. ‘She could go to Azkaban for it if it was ever revealed.’ The nervousness was laced with excitement now. ‘Shall I take you down to the interrogation room, Mrs Weasley?’ She only then remembered herself and stole an uncertain glance at Adam. ‘That is, if I’m allowed to?’

Adam only nodded and beckoned Harry and Ron to take a seat and listen in to the interview as Amy guided Hermione away again. Harry gladly took him up on the offer of listening in. He may not want to face off with Rita himself, but he did want to know what was going on. He had become an Auror for a reason.

The computer screen showed him an interrogation room that was very sparsely furnished, if it could be called furnished at all. The only things in it were a table and three chairs, one of which was unoccupied at the moment. Harry Pearce was sitting on one of the others and Rita Skeeter had taken the place opposite him. The reporter seemed entirely relaxed, not at all as if she was being questioned by the Muggle security service. Mr Pearce on the other hand gave every impression of being about to explode and as Harry put the headphones on, he started to understand why.

‘I do not understand what this is about,’ he could hear Rita Skeeter say as clearly as if she had been standing next to him. ‘The public has a right to be informed.’ Harry may have grown up since he had first met the woman and her horrible Quick-Quotes Quill, but she seemed to have missed out on some mental development. She sounded just the same as she had always done; deliberately naïve, but she wasn’t. She was just as shrewd as she had been before and just as annoying. Harry really hoped Hermione would be able to turn the odds in their favour and save Mr Pearce from Rita, and maybe from himself as well.

The head of Section D gave a slam on the table with his fist that seemed to at least startle his interviewee a little. ‘Do you have any idea what you have just done?’ he demanded. He did not give the journalist any opportunity to answer that question. ‘You have endangered not only my operation, but also my officers’ lives!’ Harry’s namesake’s voice did crescendo into a shout as he said that.

But shouting had never worked with Miss Skeeter, Harry knew from experience. It took a lot more to shut that woman up, which was why they’d had such a difficult time of it in the wizarding world as well. Rita had seemed a little caught off guard for only a moment or two, but after a few seconds she leaned forward with a smile on her face that was so obviously insincere that no one with a brain could believe it to be genuine. ‘And how does that make you feel?’ she inquired sweetly. ‘Perhaps you would like the public to know your side of the story.’

Harry Potter knew that this was the reporter’s way to tackle situations like that, but even she, not remotely stupid, could have seen that this was the wrong move to make. The head of the Auror Department was fairly sure that Mr Pearce’s blood had reached boiling point. He was almost surprised that he was unable to see steam coming out of the spy’s ears. ‘I don’t want the public to know anything!’ he snapped.

Ron was glaring at the computer screen. ‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered. Harry’s colleague was no more a fan of the journalist than Harry was. ‘I don’t know how Mr Pearce has not bitten her head off already. I would have done,’ he added in a low mutter that no one else than Harry probably caught.

Apparently Adam had. The Section Chief still didn’t like their presence, but his curt nod seemed to indicate that in this case he wholly agreed with the wizard. Now that was progress.

‘But the story is fascinating,’ Rita protested in an altogether girly tone of voice that was probably not going to do her any favours at all. ‘You’re a Muggle, are you not? Why don’t you tell my readers what it is like to cooperate with the wizarding world from your point of view?’ She was approaching this as if she was the interviewer instead of the interviewee, an attitude that was bound to annoy Harry Pearce a little further. Merlin knew it irritated Harry Potter as well.

‘Because publicity will damn well alert my suspects to what I am doing!’ If Harry had been thinking that his namesake was shouting before, that was a mere whisper in comparison with what came out of his mouth now. ‘You’ve splashed my officers’ names all over the bloody front page of that pathetic excuse for a newspaper. Thanks to you the Death Eaters now know exactly who’s after them and we may yet lose them when they decide to go kill my team and then do a runner on us, so that we will have no idea where they are and they can continue to blow dozens of civilians to kingdom come. And if you do not back down from this “story,” then so help me God, I will make it my personal pleasure to assure that you never see daylight again.’

Throughout this speech he had hardly breathed at all, the wizard thought. There was no denying that the Muggle spy was truly angry and that puzzled Harry. It were only the Auror recruits’ names that had ended up in the _Daily Prophet_ and yet Harry Pearce had referred to them as his officers. That was an interesting thing to hear, but he was not quite sure that he understood it. Because it had not sounded like he had just called those three his officers as just a way to get through to the journalist. He had sounded like he meant every word he said.

That also went for his threat to have her thrown in jail for the rest of her life and that at least seemed to register on the woman’s radar, which was about time too. She had paled a little. ‘You have no right to.’ The words sounded stiff and uncertain under the bravado. She was not as certain as she would like her interrogator to believe.

And aforementioned interrogator was not fooled for one second. The look on his face was almost triumphant now, or it would have been, had he not looked so grim. ‘Don’t I?’ he asked. ‘You see, in my world this security service has the reputation of not caring one shit for civil liberties and legislation concerning human rights when it comes to catching the bad guys. And I’ll tell you now that it is all true. When it comes to dealing with pathetic journalists like you, who endanger people’s lives only to fill their own pockets at their expense, I can be a right bastard and you, Miss Skeeter, can either try my patience and suffer the consequences, or comply with my requests.’ His voice had sunk to almost a whisper, that was somehow all te more threatening for it. Harry suddenly was glad that he was up here and not down there with the other Harry.

Rita Skeeter was fidgeting. She was wringing her hands under the table, but the camera was at such an angle that those watching the interview could see it all. ‘You cannot hold me,’ she said. ‘People will start looking for me.’

Harry Pearce’s smile reminded Harry a little of a predator that had its prey cornered. ‘But they won’t know where to look,’ he informed the woman opposite him. ‘You don’t have your wand and they don’t know where you are and you don’t even know who exactly I am. And just in case you thought that appealing to your Ministry would help you, let me tell you that it was the Minister for Magic himself who gave me permission to lift you off the street in the first place. He’s none too anxious to have you back. It would seem that you’ve stepped on a few toes too many, Miss Skeeter. There won’t be any full-scale searches for you, which leaves me the liberty of making you disappear for good if I feel like it. And believe me when I say that I _will_ do it if you do not start to cooperate this very minute.’

The reporter was still trying to process all of this, blood well and truly gone from her face now, leaving her looking like she had seen a particularly scaring kind of ghost, when the door of the interrogation room slid open and Hermione entered. She had clearly heard a lot of the interview, because she had that look on her face that had always been the dead giveaway that she was angry. Hermione didn’t anger easily, but when she was mad, she did it properly. Her fury had been known to get Malfoy punched in the face and it had been Rita Skeeter’s undoing once as well. By the look of things, it might be again.

Rita had recognised Hermione, but not the look on her face. ‘You.’ Her voice vibrated with loathing. ‘Are you meaning to put me on magical trial as well?’

‘Very well possible,’ Hermione said as she took the chair next to Mr Pearce. Her voice was steady and under control, but Harry had known her for years, long enough to see through any mask his friend might conjure up.

‘You can’t arrest me for writing the article,’ Rita sneered. ‘Writing articles is not a criminal offence.’

‘No,’ Hermione agreed. ‘But being an unregistered Animagus is. And you are one, as we both know very well. But even if you had registered, it is illegal to use one’s Animagus form to intrude on people’s privacy.’ Harry had not even known of such a law, but then, his name was not Hermione.

Rita narrowed her eyes at her. ‘If you know the law so well, silly girl, then you also know that there are limits. I was more than six meters away, which is the law.’ Her eyes sparked with triumph.

The head of Section D favoured the reporter with a sardonic smile. ‘You need to know those laws in your line of work, I imagine,’ he said. ‘And to that end you may save your knowledge of the law for the judges and see if they are any more sympathetic to your pleas than we are. I would not think so, though. Didn’t you describe them only last month as a bunch of dim-witted dinosaurs stuck in a medieval mind-set?’ The tone of voice was pleasant throughout this little speech, which for some reason was far more threatening than anything he had said before. And Harry had to admire the Muggle spy for that. He probably had no idea what an Animagus was, but he responded to the information Hermione provided him with seemingly without effort. And he was well informed as well, otherwise he’d never have known what Rita had written a month previous.

And Rita had not missed out on the threat. ‘You can’t do that.’ It was more of a plea than righteous indignity though. Panic was starting to show on her face.

Mr Pearce’s face was carefully wiped blank. ‘Try me.’

There was another short silence, but then Rita caved in. ‘Fine!’ she said. ‘I’ll kill the story.’

‘Too late,’ Harry Pearce said unsympathetically as he got up. ‘You should have thought of that before you wrote the sodding piece in the first place. And you’re getting off lightly.’ He leaned over the table and Rita eyed him the way a zebra might look at a starved lion. ‘Should my officers be in any danger as a result of that article you wrote, I will not hesitate to charge you with the possibly lethal consequences of that as well. I’ll leave you to think about that for now. Someone should come to transport you to Azkaban shortly.’ He marched out of the room and Hermione followed suit.

Harry Potter took off the headphones and leaned back in his chair, relieved that this matter at least had been dealt with. Now they could only hope and pray that none of the Death Eaters would get their hands on a newspaper and their problems would have been solved. And he had to admit that Mr Pearce had been very good at what he’d done. He seemed to be lacking something of a conscience when he was doing it, and Harry would never be able to work that way himself, but he could not deny the triumph he felt at seeing Rita Skeeter cut down to size. And thanks to the spies, she was unlikely to bother them again anytime soon.

The Muggle spy and Hermione walked back onto the Grid approximately five minutes later. Amy had come back early and had made it her personal responsibility to make sure her normal bosses got some coffee. Harry didn’t know what had happened to the liquid tough; it tasted horrible.

‘Bloody awful business,’ Harry Pearce commented as he joined them. ‘Can your people make sure she is collected within the hour?’

Harry nodded. ‘I already sent a message, sir.’ They were equals, but the respectful sir might pacify the Muggle some.

Said Muggle nodded. ‘Good. Adam, did you get through to the field officers?’ With some annoyance Harry noted that Ron and he now seemed to have been reduced to just two of Mr Pearce’s subordinates, people he could boss around.

‘Ruth, Jo and Ros, yes,’ the Section Chief responded. ‘They’re all at that book club we set up at the safe house.’

The head of Section D narrowed his eyes at the other man. ‘And Mr Burke?’

Adam shook his head helplessly. ‘He’s not answering his phone, Harry. And he’s not in the flat either. Frankly, we have no idea where he is.’

And that was bad news beyond the shadow of a doubt. Harry could feel the dread settle in his stomach and by the looks of things he was not the only one who was fully aware of what this could mean.

Mr Pearce too looked alarmed. ‘Keep trying. Alert me the moment you hear from him and pull him out. No arguments, just tell him to get here as fast as he possibly or magically can.’

Harry Potter just hoped they _would_ be able to make contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you, writing two characters by the name of Harry is rather difficult. I hope it worked out well. Writing Harry Potter after Hogwarts is hard anyway, since there’s so little to go on, so I hope I did well with that.  
> At least Rita is dealt with. Next week we check in with Ros at the book club. Please review?


	16. Ros Myers III

Ros Myers remembered that not all that long ago she had told Ruth that the American Secretary of State was just about as interested in voting for the Havensworth agreement as she was in joining an all-women’s book club. She had only been inside this house for a little under an hour and she felt she needed to correct that assessment of the situation. She was even _less_ interested in joining that bloody book club than Mr Styles had been in signing that agreement.

She had taken Phoebe Simmons to the book club she had asked Harry to set up, the means she would use to try and gain the woman’s trust. Phoebe had been enthusiastic and quite genuine about it too. If anything, that told Ros that she did not yet suspect that Jenny Lewis was not all that she pretended to be. She had given off signs of being wary when they first met, but Ros’s intervention when two of the suspects had come banging at her door, shouting abuse, seemed to have dispelled most of the distrust she had felt.

Ros was glad of it, because heaven knew they could do with a piece of luck today, especially after that sodding press leak. Adam had called an hour ago to warn her, and to try and get her to abort the operation before she could get blown to pieces along with it when the balloon went up. Ros had snapped at him to get his priorities sorted. If they pulled out now, they would waste every chance they had to ever get to their renegade terrorists before they could cause untold damage again. Besides, if Adam had been right, then her name was not even in the paper and while she agreed that Julius needed to get away from the whole mission as soon as they possibly could, that did not mean that the same was true for her.

Fortunately she didn’t need to do much until now. Ruth, Chief Bookworm, had taken over the moment she had arrived here. She was everything Ros was not; social, book-loving and very easy to get along with, when your name was not Rosalind Myers, that was. And now the two were stuck in a corner of the room, discussing their favourite novels, which gave the Senior Case Officer a bit of breathing space. The “official” part of the afternoon had yet to start and Ros was dreading the few hours of having to talk enthusiastically about books she didn’t like more than she dreaded a showdown with dangerous terrorists. She wasn’t good at this whole friendship-and-small-talk stuff. Tracking down terrorists was fine with her and she didn’t back away from honeytraps either, but this was her own personal nightmare. But the job needed doing, so she would not give it any less than one hundred per cent.

Phoebe was a mystery, she knew, but right now the woman could have been Ruth’s twin, the way she chattered on about books. She could even give long quotes without thinking. How she had ever dropped out of school, Ros would never know, because underneath the simple local supermarket worker was an intelligent woman hidden away and it did nothing to change Ros’s mind on her involvement in the Manchester Debacle. After all, she had been seen there and so far there was no satisfactory explanation for that. She might be a lot deeper involved than appearances suggested – the woman was clearly as much of an actress as Ros herself – and until the Senior Case Officer had wriggled every last secret out of Mrs Simmons, this operation was not complete.

But still, Phoebe’s involvement did not really make any sense. She had no magic, so what would these terrorists want with her? Yes, things had started to make a tad bit more sense when she had learned that Andrew Simmons was a wizard. Ros would have thrown a hissy fit when she heard that, were it not for the fact that she had a few more important things to concern herself with.

‘Jenny?’ The subject of her ponderings penetrated her thoughts. ‘Are you well? You look miles away.’

Ros forced her face into a calm and composed smile. ‘I’m fine, Phoebe,’ Jenny said. ‘Just walking down memory lane. Are you having a good time?’ Best steer the topic away from her thoughts and get back to business. It was not like her to be anything less than completely focused on an op. Thinking about it won’t get you any answers, _Myers, so stop dawdling and get going._

Apparently this had been the right question to ask. ‘I am, Jenny, really.’ The woman clearly didn’t know how soon she should express her enthusiasm. ‘Your friend Leah, she’s really nice.’

‘And she has a similar interest in books,’ Jenny added in a light teasing tone. Harry hadn’t been doing a happy dance around the room when Ros requested Ruth to join the party. Good grief, she had not been cheering happily about it either, even if it was for different  reasons. Because if she could, she’d stay a long way away from Miss Evershed and her annoying know-it-all attitude, but she was practically made for this job. It would be foolish not to use her.

Phoebe blushed in embarrassment. ‘Jenny, I’m sorry. I just got carried away a bit.’

Jenny smiled her reassurance. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘We all have that from time to time.’ _Although not when there are books concerned_ , Ros added silently. ‘And I know Leah. Once she’s started, there’s just no stopping her.’

Now Mrs Simmons smiled as well. ‘That’s true,’ she agreed. ‘But she knows a lot. It’s refreshing. My colleagues still look at me as if I’ve grown a second head when I grab a book during lunch breaks.’

‘Yes, I know the feeling,’ Jenny agreed. ‘Why do you think I’ve joined a book club?’

Phoebe nodded understandingly. ‘Well, it’s a stroke of luck that you already knew of one when you moved here.’ Ros thought she detected a hint of wariness underneath the casual friendly remark, but it could still be spooks’ paranoia. The Senior Case Officer however didn’t think so. Phoebe had been the same when she first met her.  She was fishing as much as Ros was doing, but she, unlike Ros, was not a professional and the spy defused the possibly explosive topic with a smile and a well-rehearsed cover story.

‘I’ve known Leah for ages,’ she told the other woman. ‘We used to be neighbours before she moved to London, so it’s nice to see her again. It’s been years.’

Now Phoebe looked shocked. ‘And I kept talking to her!’ she said, scandalised. ‘I should have let the two of you catch up.’

‘It’s all right,’ Jenny said. _That was the bloody point of this_ , Mrs Simmons, Ros thought. And there was nothing she would hate more than have a little heart to heart with Miss Know-it-all Evershed. Ruth had been a little too enthusiastic about her father’s downfall and prison sentence for Ros’s liking and she had not been proving willing to mend things since, so Ros was not making an effort either.

She was saved from having to tell any more lies by her mobile phone, which chose that particular moment to start chirruping. _That gives a whole new meaning to the expression of being saved by the bloody bell_ , Ros thought. She glanced at the small screen of the phone, which announced that “Dad” was calling. Harry Pearce. Two phone calls from Thames House within the hour? That was bound to mean trouble.

She produced an apologetic smile at Phoebe. ‘It’s my father,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take this.’

Phoebe nodded her understanding. ‘Of course. Be my guest.’

 _I was planning on it_. ‘Jennifer Lewis,’ she answered the phone, making sure Harry would be well aware that she was not alone and would have to watch her tongue during the conversation.

Harry however didn’t need to worry about that. ‘Ros, have you heard from Julius?’ Her boss sounded tense and on edge, never a good sign.

Ros frowned. ‘John? Should I have?’

‘We hoped so,’ Harry replied. _We being who?_ ‘We’ve been unable to reach him.’

‘Shit!’ It was out before she could check her tongue and stop herself. Normally she might have assumed that Julius, who after all was not exactly a genius where technology was concerned, was not answering his phone because he could either not be bothered to or didn’t have it with him to begin with, but today it could indicate something far more sinister as well. The bloody press leak. The terrorists might have gotten their hands on a newspaper and two of them had already seen Julius during that showdown when they had for all intents and purposes been harassing Phoebe. And now that his name was splashed all over the front page, he was at risk, more so than she was, unless of course the terrorists started using their brains and realised that she was with Julius on this op.

She conveniently banished that thought to the back of her head. She was still on an operation and starting to think about worst case scenarios was not going to help her to achieve her goals. Phoebe Simmons still kept more secrets than the FSB and almost with just as much success. That should be her focus now. This did however not stop her from feeling some professional worry over Julius’s lack of communication. He was a colleague now, even if it was only temporarily, and he was her responsibility. The lad may be a loud-mouthed idiot if she had ever seen one, but he’d had his bright moments as well.

‘I thought he said he would study today,’ she replied, hoping that Harry would correctly translate that as: he was planning to follow up some leads to the magical world, something she could of course not say out loud, because that would cause the woman next to her to do a runner straight into her husband’s waiting arms. ‘If he’s gone to the university, he might have left his phone behind in a locker.’

‘He was not at the flat when you left?’ Harry, Ros realised, was as jumpy as she had ever heard him.

She discreetly moved away from Phoebe as to have the liberty to talk more freely. This may just be Julius’s stupidity coming into play, but it was far more likely that it was something else entirely. She could feel Phoebe’s inquisitive stare burning holes in her back, but she was in luck and the woman didn’t follow her. ‘He had gone out an hour before I left,’ she reported. ‘Harry, what the bloody hell is going on?’ All these little snippets of information could be spun into one terrifying web of trouble if she chose to do so, but she also knew that she was far more likely to make it ten times worse if she let her own imagination loose on it. Having the full picture was not likely to reassure her, but it was always better than to not know everything they knew on the Grid.

Harry readily complied with her request. ‘We’ve plugged the leak, but according to our esteemed friend in the Ministry of Magic there is nothing he can do to pull the story now that it’s out there.’

Ros, who feared that her boss might launch into one of his well-known tirades against politicians, pre-empted it by shooting her next question at him. ‘Plugged how? Is she going to discredit her writing?’

There was a dismissive ‘hmpf’ down the line. ‘Our wand-waving friends have caught her out on something for which she can and will go to prison for the next few years and hopefully that will discredit her.’

But Ros knew as well as Harry knew that this would do nothing to stop the terrorists from believing whatever that sodding woman had written. The operation was still at risk, which would explain why Harry was so hell-bent on finding Julius before the shit hit the fan. But she also knew that this probably the best they could hope for under the given circumstances. And in this case she might even agree with Harry’s “esteemed friend” about the impossibility of discrediting the story that disgusting reporter had written.

Reporters were every intelligence officer’s worst nightmare, what with their chattering about the public having the right to be informed. Ros had once, when she had been sent to put the frighteners on a female reporter who refused to be charmed into killing her story by one of her male colleagues, snapped at the journalist that there was a reason this was called a secret service and that it was a good thing the public didn’t know everything, because then all hell might just break loose. The government would fall, the economy would be in ruins and Britain would become a third world country if everyone knew what serious dangers threatened it on a weekly basis. That had at least made that silly cow cooperate.

‘What do we do about Julius?’ she demanded.

‘We’ll keep trying and I’ve sent a team down to the university. I need you to go back to the flat to see if he’s been there.’

‘Harry, I’m on an…’ she started to protest. This operation may already be in ruins, but Phoebe was still blissfully unaware of her identity and she would be a fool if she did not use that advantage while she had it. They still were in dire need of intelligence and she was in a position to obtain it. Aborting now would seriously damage whatever chances they may still have.

‘… Operation,’ he finished. ‘I know. But this takes precedence now, Ros. No arguments, it’s an order. Get down there soon as you can.’

But Ros was not one to follow the orders she’d been given. ‘Then send Adam,’ she countered.

‘Adam has never been in the flat,’ Harry pointed out impatiently. ‘He wouldn’t know the differences you would notice. Go, Ros. Now.’

To pre-empt any further protest she might have made, he hung up on her before she had the chance to reply. And he had a point. Whatever it was that had happened to Julius – which could still, she reminded herself, be nothing more than the idiot not answering his mobile because he either did not know how to or because he was otherwise preoccupied – they needed to find out what it was before all hell could break loose. Not only would it be a huge setback for the operation itself and would it destroy whatever fragile truce had been formed between MI-5 and the Ministry of Magic, but it was also a huge danger for Julius himself, because Death Eaters were unlikely to appreciate the security services prying into their less than legal businesses. And spooks looked after their own. It was one of those unwritten rules they lived by. They looked after their own, because no one else was bloody well going to do it. Even their own government would give them up if the situation asked for it. And if Julius went missing, they would give him up as well. Annoying wizard or not, he was part of the team now.

‘Jenny, are you all right?’ In the time Ros had needed to get herself under control again, Phoebe had walked up to her, worry written all over her face.

Ros nodded. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She searched for a good, believable excuse she could use to get out of here as soon as possible.

‘You look a bit peaky,’ Phoebe remarked. She cast her new neighbour a scrutinising glance. ‘Are you sure you’re well?’

The spy nodded again. ‘Really, Phoebe, I’m fine,’ she said curtly, hoping that would make the woman back off. Hopefully Ruth would jump in soon enough to distract the terrorist’s wife with talk of Jane Austen or something equally nonsensical. The sooner this matter was solved, the better it would be for everyone involved and then she might even be back before the end of this session. A feeling in her gut however told her that things may not be that easy today.

Because Phoebe clearly had not believed a word she had just said. ‘Jenny, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ She was almost stern now. ‘Was it the phone call? Something wrong with your father?’

She was not going to let this one go and Ros decided that if she could not get rid of the woman, she might as well tell her what was going on, although she would not tell her all of it. Female bonding over a crisis and all that kind of crap. It sure would work better than the book club and at least she didn’t have to pretend the anxiety over Julius. Really, she did not even like the lad, but she wished it on no one to fall into the hands of terrorists, not to mention that, had he truly gone AWOL, then the operation was as dead as Julius might soon be.

 _Stop panicking, Myers. You have no idea if something is even wrong_.

But there would be. She had been in the Service for well over a decade and she had developed intuition for things like that over time. This was just one of those times that she was almost positive that something somewhere had gone horribly wrong.

‘It’s John,’ she confessed. ‘He was supposed to go to the university today, but then he phoned my father that he would come by for a visit around two o’ clock.’ She slipped into the guise of worried aunt almost without effort. ‘But my father called and he never arrived. And he doesn’t answer his phone either.’ She wrung her hands in a very Ruth-like manner. ‘It isn’t like him. John can be a downright nuisance, but he’s punctual. He would not just not show up for an appointment.’

Some of her anxiety seemed to transfer onto Phoebe. ‘Are you sure he’s not just hanging out with friends, people from college?’ Even if she indeed felt for Jenny, she was clearly not particularly fond of her nephew and she was sceptical of his disappearing act. But then, she did not have access to all the information Ros Myers had access to. If she’d have that, she would not be as unconcerned.

‘Then he would not have agreed to meet up with my dad,’ she said. No, if Julius truly had dropped off the radar, it was because he didn’t know how to use his phone or he had been taken by the very people they were hunting. As angry as Ros knew she’d be with him when it turned out to be the first option, she also knew she would be infinitely relieved, even if she’d rather die than admit to that. First rule in the Myers Conduct Protocol: never show any emotion. She was not about to break that code by fussing visibly over a missing colleague who may not even be missing at all. ‘I don’t know where he is, so I’ll have to return home now, see if he’s left a note, a clue as to where he’s gone off to.’ She forced her face into an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry about this all, Phoebe. Believe me, I’ll kill him myself if it’s just a combination of traffic jam and his battery gone dead, but I’ll have to check it out.’ And goodness knew she _would_ personally strangle him if that did turn out to be the case. ‘I’m sure Leah would drop you off at home.’ They had come in her car, since Phoebe wasn’t in the possession of one, and Ros would now need to take that back home, robbing her neighbour of her transport.

Phoebe seemed to think about it for a moment or two and then made a decision. ‘Don’t worry about it, Jenny. I’m coming with you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we’ll check in with Julius to see what is really going on with him. Until then, please review?


	17. Julius Burke III

Julius had locked himself into the loo to complete his research. For a moment he had considered to go and sit in the library, which was very quiet at the moment, but in the end he had decided against it. If someone did see him do what he was doing, then the shit would hit the fan, as Ros Myers would say. That was something he could really do without. The flat was out of the question as well. Ros had warned him and Julius had a feeling himself as well that after their interruption of the argument between Dolohov and Mrs Simmons they would be kept under surveillance. So that meant he had to take his research elsewhere.

Unfortunately that meant that there were not so many other places. If he were to go to Thames House or the Ministry and he was followed, that would blow his cover, which would rule those two out immediately. The only real option was the university and that was where he was stuck now, in the loo, to make sure nobody saw or heard what he was up to. It would be humiliating if anyone else had known about it, which they didn’t fortunately. West would never let him hear the end of it if he were ever to find out.

He took a deep breath and regretted that almost right away. This place did not truly stink, but neither was it a pleasant smell that hung around here and Julius’s nose wrinkled in disgust. But sometimes needs must and if he didn’t want anyone to know what he was up to, then he needed to take some drastic measures.

He now studied the wand in his hands; Blackthorn, dragon heartstring, 12 ¾ inch, unyielding. Rabastan Lestrange’s wand looked well cared for, which probably meant that it was working as it should. Ollivander would probably have mentioned if it was in any way malfunctioning and Julius himself could vouch for that; he had opened the way into Diagon Alley with it, even though that did not mean too much in terms of establishing how well this particular wand operated. Still, Lestrange had probably used it, maybe even in the Manchester debacle.

Ros and Harry Pearce thought that the wand itself, now they had identified it, was of no further use to them. The Section Head had not demanded that they hand it in for further investigation, which had somewhat surprised the wizard, and Ros had deliberately “forgotten” about it. What they didn’t know was that there was so much more to be learned from a wand and its history if one only knew how to do it. And Julius did know.

‘ _Prior Incantato_ ,’ he whispered. He didn’t think there was anyone else around, but it would be best not to take any chances. This place was swarming with Muggles and although they would take his spell-work for gobbledygook, there only had to be one who did add two and two and made four for the Statute of Secrecy to be in imminent danger of violation.

He scribbled the results down with a Muggle pen on a Muggle piece of paper. It was not the way he liked to work, but if he had taken parchment and quills with him, people would have stared and he had been instructed time and again not to attract any unnecessary attention. This would have to do for now. With any luck he would be back in the Auror Department within the week and then he could begin to forget that this had ever happened. Now _that_ sounded like a good plan.

The first spell to be revealed was his own, the one he’d used to get Ros and him into Diagon Alley and he didn’t bother noting it. He was here to learn more about Lestrange’s activities. Julius was not even really sure what it was that he was looking for; the Aurors had a rather clear idea of what the Death Eater had been up to in the past few months. The only thing they failed to achieve was to catch him time and again, but that was not for lack of reliable intelligence.

Still, there was a four week information gap between the Manchester debacle and the present time, because the suspects had dropped off the radar completely. They had seen the need to lie low for a while, since the whole wizarding world was after them and the debacle at least had made them realise that they were not as invincible as they had believed. A good few of them had been sent to Azkaban, which was the biggest triumph for the Aurors to date. Their high spirits were dampened though when they learned that none of those Death Eaters knew anything even remotely useful. They had all been dosed with Veritaserum, but they just hadn’t known any plans or secure locations; they had only been following orders given to them by the inner circle, which was still on the run and hiding in places unknown.

The first few spells the wand revealed were not worth much in terms of intelligence either; Lestrange had cast _Lumos_ a few times, had repaired a few objects and had done some household duties with a flick of his wand. He really had been lying low, even in using magic. He must have almost lived like a Muggle since the debacle, not something, Julius observed, he would have appreciated.

The Slytherin was close to just give up and call it a day. The smell in the loos was starting to make him feel slightly nauseous and there did not seem to be anything useful to be learned from the wand either, as Julius had hoped. This could all be just a huge waste of his time. Well, it was not as if he could do anything else really while Ros was still busy trying to butter up to Phoebe Simmons. Sometimes he really felt like a useless tag-along, who only came in handy when the magical world needed explaining again. Other than that, he had not really contributed to the operation yet and he had come to the conclusion that he hated being useless even more than he hated working with Muggles. Those Death Eaters were still out there and he had his heart set on recapturing them. At the moment there was not much of that going on.

 _One last spell_ , he promised himself. If that turned out to be nothing either, he would end the _Prior Incantato_ , pack up and leave to get himself a coffee – the best Muggle invention he could think of – and some fresh air.

The next second he was glad that he had decided to stay for that last spell. His heart skipped a beat when he realised what it was that Lestrange had done. The Fidelius Charm. Merlin’s beard, what had those Death Eaters been up to? At any rate it did mean that they had missed out on something important, something Julius had now unearthed.

True, this still didn’t tell him where the place was that had been placed under aforementioned Fidelius Charm and it did not tell him who the Secret Keeper was either – the wand only could tell him that such a spell had been cast with it – but it was a start and a new lead they could follow up on, especially if they got this piece of intelligence to the Ministry, so that they could work their magic on it.

Feeling as if he had not been wasting his time after all, Julius ended the spell, scribbled down his last few notes and then stuck both wands – Lestrange’s and his own – and paper back in the rucksack. It was a relief to step out into the fresh air again five minutes later and Julius rewarded himself for his troubles in the loo by taking a couple of deep breaths to fill his lungs with cleaner air before he stopped to buy himself a takeaway coffee, drunken in snatches as he tried to make it through the nightmare that was London traffic on a Friday afternoon. But he could not really let that take away his high spirits. Finding something relevant had put him in a good mood and it would probably take another Manchester debacle for him to be anything less than cheerful. They were making progress and getting closer to their suspects. Now they would have to work out who the hell the Death Eaters had used as a Secret Keeper.

He pondered that as he made his way back to the flat. Chances were that they had just chosen one of their own to do the job, since there were not very many people they could trust with their lives, if those existed at all. If that was the case, it might turn out to be very difficult indeed to find out where the Death Eaters had gone off to. On the other hand they might not have kept the secret themselves, for fear that if one of them should be caught, the secret would be exposed and all of them would be at risk.

He was still wondering about the possibilities as he entered the flat and that was what snapped him out of it. Something was wrong. It was not something he had any solid and rational reason for to believe, but it was a feeling deep inside, the feeling that something was not as it should be. Auror instinct, they called it in the Auror Department, and Julius knew better than to disregard his intuition in such cases.

A quick glance around the living room and adjoining kitchen gave him some evidence for his undefined feelings. The dishes in the kitchen, still not cleaned up, had been rearranged, the books in the bookcase were out of place the carpet underneath the coffee table was wet. A quick look in the vase with flowers on said table told him that there no longer was any water in it. Someone had knocked it over and failed to refill it.

And Ros would never do any of those things. It was not her way. And there was no sense in it. Yes, she might take some books with her to that book club she was taking Mrs Simmons to, but that did not explain the vase and the dishes. Why would she rearrange those unless she had washed them, which she hadn’t. No, someone must have been snooping around the flat and something told him that, whoever it had been, it was not a friendly presence. And an ordinary burglar would not bother to try and leave the place behind as he had found it. Burglars just took what they wanted and then got out as quickly as they could.

Could it be? Could it be that their covers had been blown? Whoever had been in here, must have been one of the suspects Julius had been tracking for so long now. It was the only explanation for the facts that made any sense to him. And that person might even be inside still. This intrusion could not have been very long ago and Julius had not seen anyone leaving the building. Of course they could have Disapparated, but then they took the risk of being heard. And this too was Auror instinct, he supposed, but it was just a tad bit too silent in the house.

Every instinct told him to get out of the flat this very instant, but Julius was loath to reveal his back to a hostile presence. What he needed, he realised, was some insurance. Someone needed to know where he was, just in case something did go belly-up. Maybe he was getting paranoid and maybe there was not even someone in this flat at all, but in this case he was rather safe than sorry. Merlin’s beard, he would even take the ridicule Robert would shower him in for granted when this did turn out to be his paranoia coming into play.

No one would ever accuse Julius Burke of being a coward and he wouldn’t start being one now. But there was a line between bravery and downright foolish recklessness and he was not about to cross it, not even to save his own image, whatever his image even was. That was the kind of thing he could worry about when he was safely out of here.

He dumped his rucksack on the couch, dug up his mobile phone from his pocket and switched it back on again. He had turned the device off when he had gone to do his research as to not be disturbed by chirrups, bleeps and the like caused by all the confusing technology Muggles issued their mobile phones with. He needed to focus to work and although he would get an tongue-lashing for being off comms if it was found out, Julius thought the chances of that not very high. The past few days had gone by without as much as a single call and that was not likely to change anytime soon.

Which was why he was so surprised to find he had at least a dozen missed call when he turned his mobile on again, all from “Granddad” or “Uncle Roger,” better known as Harry Pearce and Adam Carter. Something must have gone wrong on their end as well.

Maybe it had all gone to hell in the few short hours since he had left this place, which was why the flat had been turned over. But the not knowing was worse than knowing, because now his imagination was in danger of spinning wildly out of control, spinning him the wildest stories and theories and Julius Burke was not known as one who let his imagination get away with him. He had the reputation of being arrogant, but level-headed and right now level-headedness was just what he needed.

Thanks to Malcolm’s pre-operation lecture on technology he at least knew how to handle this device with some skill. He quickly dialled Harry Pearce’s number and waited for the spy boss to pick up the phone.

He didn’t need to wait long. Right after the first ring, the phone was answered by a short-tempered sounding ‘Pearce.’

Mindful of that the intruder might still be hidden somewhere close by and could hear every word he said, he replied with a cheerful ‘Hello, granddad, it’s John.’ It sounded forced and insincere, but it would have to do.

His temporary boss was clearly not in the mood for pleasantries. ‘Where the hell are you?’ Had he been here in person, he would probably have bitten Julius’s head clean off.

‘At home,’ Julius replied. Even though Mr Pearce was none too pleased with him for some reason as of yet unspecified, it was good to hear his voice. Because there was one thing he could be more or less certain of: Harry Pearce was unlikely to do him any real harm. The person still hiding in the flat might do that, but was unlikely to do so while Julius was still in contact with the outside world. It made him feel a bit braver. ‘I just wanted to hear a friendly voice,’ he went on, improvising as he went along, hoping Mr Pearce was skilled enough to read between the lines and make out the real message. ‘I know I’ve had some company earlier and I don’t think I’ll get lonely anytime soon, but well, it’s just nice to hear a truly _friendly_ voice for a change.’ It was hardly top of the bill, but it would have to do and he could only hope that his “company” was too dim-witted to realise what was really going on here.

There was a short silence on the other end of the line as his boss decoded his little speech, which he did correctly, judging by his next words. ‘Are you in the flat?’ The anger had gone now. Mr Pearce sounded like he knew what he was doing, which was a relief, since Julius really did not have a clue.

‘Just arrived actually,’ he answered truthfully, trying not to look over his shoulder every two seconds. If this phone call was meant to deceive a possible onlooker, he would have to behave normally as well. And so he forced himself to drop down on the sofa, as if he really was just having a relaxed conversation with his grandfather.

‘Do you have company now?’ was the next question that was fired at him.

Julius pretended to look at the clock on the other end of the room so that he had a good excuse to give the whole room a quick once over. There was no one in sight and truly it looked like it should, but that didn’t mean anything. The intruder might be hiding in the bathroom or one of the bedrooms for all he knew. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said nonchalantly, mildly pleased with his own performance. He was getting better at this game, he realised. ‘Just the usual really. I’ve been moving things around a lot. Administration was a mess, again, so I had to sort it all out myself.’ There, now he sounded like a true student complaining about the mess at university. He could only hope that Mr Pearce understood what he was talking about.

His proposal to go and look around however was slapped down instantly. ‘Don’t. Get out of there now, Julius. I’ll send back-up right away.’ He made good on that right that very moment by snapping orders at someone who was with him. ‘Have you checked any of the rooms yet?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ The wizard threw in a bark of laughter for good measure. The effect of it was somewhat less than what he had hoped for though. It sounded insincere and forced to even his own ears, never mind an eavesdropper. Maybe his real boss had been right and he did need the training from the Muggle spies, because if he could not make this more genuine soon, his cover would be blown faster than he could say magic. He was all too aware of the danger he could be in if that happened. _So, get a grip, Burke, and get a move on_. ‘The place looks quiet enough, though. My friend said I could just have a look around and if I’ll like it, I think I’m going to take the room. I mean, Aunt Jenny’s is nice and all, but sometimes it’s just _too_ quiet, if you know what I mean.’

Harry Pearce’s answer was immediate. ‘Don’t go and look. Walk out now and keep talking to me.’ There was a tension that sounded as if it was not due to any intruder in the flat. As long as they were still on the phone, this intruder was unlikely to attack after all. Besides, he could not see how their cover could even been blown in the first place. Their backstories were watertight and it was highly unlikely that Ros had done something that stupid. He may not know her for that long, but she was clever enough – and devoted enough, he added to himself – to pull this off.

‘Ah, come on, granddad,’ he heard himself say. ‘It can’t be as bad as all that, can it?’ He had an increasingly strong suspicion that something had gone very wrong and that his observations about the flat in some way were related to whatever it was that had gone wrong at Thames House. This may be a whole lot bigger than he had realised at first and he could not say he liked the sound of that.

The tone of voice used by the head of Section D only confirmed that. ‘That’s an order, Julius, non-negotiable.’ Julius made to protest again, but he was cut off. ‘ _Now_ , Julius.’

He didn’t like it that he did not have access to all the relevant information, but if things were really that dire, it would be best to just obey the order he had been given and wait with the rest until he was back on the Grid again. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said, hoping that would be sufficient to pacify the man on the other end of the line. ‘How are things with you? I meant to ask earlier, but well, you side-tracked me with your interrogation about university life.’

He could of course wait till he was back in Thames House, but he was under orders to keep talking as he exited the flat. And he could not just dash out, because that would be suspicious indeed.

‘Press leak,’ Harry replied. He was angry still, but it was no longer directed at Julius. ‘Some Rita Skeeter woman published an article in the bloody _Daily Prophet_ this morning, including your name. Your cover is blown right out of the water, so I need you to get the hell out of there. I don’t care if you do it our way or your way, just get out of there.’

A cold shiver had gone down his spine at the mention of a press leak. He did not have any experience with those, but he was familiar with the power of the media and if their renegade suspects got their hands on today’s paper, not only he was in danger, but the entire operation could be at risk.

‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ he promised, turning around to retrieve his wand from the rucksack. Mr Potter’s orders notwithstanding, he was going to bring risks of getting lifted back to a minimum by Apparating straight to Thames House. This was an emergency situation after all.

But when he turned he found he was no longer alone. A man he recognised from the many wanted posters aimed a wand at him. ‘ _Stupefy_!’

Julius was hit before he could do anything to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter. Next time we’ll check in with Phoebe again. Until then, please review? It would mean a lot!


	18. Phoebe Simmons II

Jenny was impatient, jumpy almost, Phoebe noted as she slid into the passenger seat. She belted up just as the engine roared to life and Jenny steered the car onto the road as if she were driving a Ferrari on a racing circuit instead of an ordinary car on the streets of London. For some reason it did not seem like the woman to be so on edge. Jenny had struck her as level-headed, not very socially skilled and intelligent. It was the level-headedness that had disappeared right now and the social skills seemed to be brought back to an absolute minimum. She didn’t talk at all, just kept her eyes firmly on the road as she raced the car through the streets. Phoebe was more or less afraid a police car could turn up any moment and do them for speeding. They’d be right too.

‘Jenny, he’ll be fine,’ she said in as soothing a tone of voice as she could manage. That was the youth these days; always late, always up to something they didn’t want the adults to know. And John Lewis was no different. She had seen him only briefly, but that was enough to get the gist of what kind of person he was. And he wasn’t the nice and considerate kind.

‘How do you know?’ Her neighbour didn’t even look at her as she snapped her reply. She cast her a sideward glance and the steel gaze in her eyes softened somewhat. It looked like it cost her a lot of effort though. ‘Phoebe, I know my nephew and he has a lot of faults, but dropping off the bloody radar without a word is not one of them.’

John Lewis had given another impression, but she supposed she could concede the point, since she really didn’t know the guy at all. Jenny would know better in this case. And she wasn’t here to criticise her, she was here to offer some support. Miss Lewis looked like she was in desperate need of some, even if she was clearly too proud to admit to such a thing.

The phone rang and Jenny picked it up even as she was still practically racing. ‘Dad,’ she acknowledged.

Someone on the other end of the line started to rap into it. Phoebe could make out that it was a man’s voice, and since he was talking in loud tones, she could even make out the words. ‘He’s been taken, Ros.’

She could only just stop herself from frowning. She could not think of one way Jennifer’s name could be shortened into Ros. Maybe it was just a nickname? And it did not even concern her. She ought to learn that people’s private business was just that: private. They wouldn’t want her to listen in to conversations. But she could hardly help herself now.

‘How’s that bloody well possible?’ Jenny fumed, making Phoebe wonder if this was the way one treated one’s parents nowadays.

‘I don’t know, not exactly,’ Jenny’s father admitted wearily. ‘But I’m on my way to try and find out. That sodding bunch of misfits was supposed to keep an eye on him. What were they thinking I meant: watch the bloody birds while in come…?’

Jenny interrupted him, making it quite impossible for Phoebe to catch the rest. ‘How long ago?’ she demanded.

Phoebe meanwhile was quite unable to make heads or tails of it. She knew she hadn’t finished school, but that did not make her unintelligent. She knew when something was not right and here was something that was not right, not by a very long way. Maybe it was just paranoia coming into play, carefully cultivated by long-term exposure to her husband’s friends, who had to be on the wrong side of the law. Why else would they need a place to hide? And something about Jenny’s behaviour was just as wrong as theirs had been. Things didn’t add up and that usually meant trouble. Phoebe could only hope she would not get caught up in this one.

‘Ten minutes,’ the man on the other end of the line said. ‘I’ll fill you in when you get there.’

‘Yeah,’ Jenny said. ‘I’ll be there in five.’

Phoebe had the unpleasant feeling that this meant Jenny’s foot would acquaint itself with the gas a little more still. As far as she was aware, it was still a ten minutes’ drive back to the flat and if her neighbour intended to use only half of that time to get there, she shuddered to think what speed they would soon be moving at.

As it happened, she did not have any time to shudder at all. Jenny hit the gas, making Phoebe’s stomach perform a few tricks that made her want to empty it of its contents on the spot. ‘Jenny, could you please drive a little slower?’ she begged.

The other woman fixed her with a glare that said quite plainly that Phoebe should get her priorities sorted out. There was something akin to worry in her eyes. It would be worry, Phoebe reckoned, if only she would allow herself to feel it. She thought herself a good judge of character and it was quite obvious that Jenny was not the emotional type, nor would she want to be it. In fact, it was quite a puzzle. For some reason Phoebe felt as if she was only now seeing the real Jenny. What she had seen of her thus far had only been some mask. It had been a good mask, but a mask all the same.

She thought it wiser to pretend that she hadn’t heard the conversation. Years of being married to Andrew meant that she at least was skilled in the art of acting, perfected on policemen who came knocking to demand the current location of her husband out of her. And Jenny was only an accountant, not suspecting foul play that was not in any way financial. It would be a piece of cake.

‘Jenny, what is going on?’ She went for the worried-neighbour approach. It had worked so far.

The blonde woman kept her eyes on the road as she answered. ‘My nephew apparently has been abducted. I don’t know anything else yet.’ She jumped a red traffic light and only just avoided an unfortunate collision with another car. The driver of the green Vauxhall Astra honked after them, but Jenny ignored him.

 _She’s lying_. The man on the phone, her father, had said that John had been taken. It was only now that Phoebe realised that he had failed to mention by whom the young man had been taken and Jenny hadn’t asked, which would suggest that she already knew who she was dealing with. And that might mean she may even have expected this to happen. Of course she hadn’t wanted to, but she had reacted with just a little too less shock and surprise to be genuine about it..

 _You’re getting rather paranoid, my dear_ , a voice in the back of her head commented. All that looking over her shoulder while Andrew was staying in the flat that now belonged to the woman next to her, that must have paid off in a way she only now started to realise. But that could not be it. No, there was more going on. This could not be just blamed on plain old paranoia. The longer she thought about it, the more unlikely it became that this was in any way ordinary. What ordinary boys did get kidnapped anyway?

‘Abducted?’ she said in shock. ‘Why abducted? Did he fall in with the wrong kind of people?’

Never mind the wrong kind of people, the only thing wrong here may have been her remark. Jenny swivelled her head around – even if Phoebe would really prefer it if she kept her eyes on the road, what with the speed they were still driving at – to fix her with a glare. ‘If you think that, you are less intelligent than I had believed.’ The words were ice-cold. Phoebe reckoned she might have deserved that. Her probing had been a little less subtle than usual too.

Fortunately she was saved from having to come up with an apology, which more likely than not would have been a stammered attempt at one than an eloquent way of expressing her regret, because Jenny drove up the street and parked the car. And that was distraction enough, because she was met by a scene she had not hoped to ever see in front of her flat. The place was crowded with a lot of people who had police force written all over their faces, even if some of them had rather strange dressing habits. One of the men even seemed to be wearing a garment that looked remarkably like a woman’s summer dress over a pair of jeans.

They were moving in and out of the flat, which made Phoebe uneasy for quite another reason. Oh, she was quite sure that they would not go into hers – after all, what could they have to do there? – but they would turn Jenny’s inside out in search for clues. They had to. It was their job. But Phoebe feared what they might find there. Not all that long ago Andrew and one of his sinister looking friends whose name she had never come around to hearing, had come banging at the door, demanding that she hand over a wand one of the others must have let hanging around. He clearly thought that she had taken the cursed thing – as if she would ever touch such an unpredictable artefact even if she got paid for it – and had demanded that she handed it over or there would be dire consequences. It was only because of Jenny and John’s timely interference that things did not get out of hand.

The thing was that she had no clue as to where the thing had gone to. How would she know? She had kept her distance from the flat, only going up when there was no other choice. The less she had to do with that strange magic thing, the happier she would be. The fact remained that like it or not, the wand must have been in that flat of Jenny’s somewhere, probably well hidden too. Phoebe had not found it when she was cleaning up and she liked to think that she had been pretty thorough about it. Chances of her overlooking something were not all that huge. The wand, as the magical stick was called, must have been well hidden indeed. And so it was unlikely that Jenny or John had found it. Besides, even if they had, they would never have connected all the dots Phoebe had. How many people were aware of magic being real anyway?

That did not rule out that this was not in any way to do with the magical guests she’d cared for quite involuntary for well over four weeks. Andrew’s friend had given every impression of wanting to go up and search the flat for himself, never mind the fact that he had threatened bloody murder when he first had been told there were new tenants coming. What if he had gone in all by himself and John had arrived home just as this wizard was searching it? Wrong time, wrong place.

An ice-cold shiver went down Phoebe’s spine. What other explanation might there be when the scene of the crime was obviously this building? Could it really be that it might even be her fault that the boy had been abducted for a matter he could not do anything about? But if this was the case, she could not share her knowledge with the police. They would not even believe her to begin with and why should they? Magic was not even real for all they knew. And even for all his many faults – and she knew all of them; they had been her constant companions for more than twenty years now – Phoebe Simmons still loved her husband. To tell the police what she knew would be betraying him and that was something she’d never done before. She would not suddenly start now.

So when she followed Jenny out of the car and over to a man in suit snarling at two junior officers, she kept her face as expressionless as possible. It wouldn’t do for her to seen as if she was anything else than a considerate woman, here to offer support to her distressed neighbour. And that was why she had come here in the first place.

The man turned as soon as he caught sight of them, gave every impression of wanting to say something, but changed his mind once he saw her. For some reason Phoebe felt like that man, Jenny’s father she’d wager, knew exactly who she was and was in no way pleased with it. But that must be paranoia surely. After all, they’d never met before. No, she was overreacting. _You’re seeing police lurking behind every lantern post these days_ , she reprimanded herself. _This nonsense has to stop or people will notice._

‘Jennifer,’ the man acknowledged, his face now perfectly blank again. Phoebe thought there was anger in his eyes though. He gave his daughter an affectionate and somewhat reassuring pat on the shoulder and then looked at Phoebe. ‘Mrs…?’ He left it to her to make her own introduction.

‘Simmons,’ she said, shaking the proffered hand. ‘Phoebe Simmons, Jenny’s downstairs neighbour. I am very sorry to hear about John,’ she added. She was, and in more ways than this man could possibly imagine, but she was not about to tell him that.

The man merely nodded. ‘Charles Lewis,’ he said. ‘Could you perhaps give me a moment with my daughter, Mrs Simmons?’ The tone of voice was impeccably polite, too polite perhaps. She got a distinct feeling that this man did not like her one bit and for the life of her, she could not figure out why.

She nodded. ‘Of course.’ And then, looking at Jenny, she added: ‘Would you like me to wait for you here?’ Jenny may give every appearance of not being in the business of showing emotions, but her reaction when she had received that first phone call had given her away. It had been pure panic. It had only been for a second and then the expression had been carefully schooled back into that expressionless mask, but Phoebe had all the proof she needed that Jennifer Lewis cared more about her nephew than she let on. It was that that had made Phoebe to come with her, to offer whatever support she may. Everyone deserved to have someone to fall back on in such situations, even unsocial Jennifer Lewis. And she had been nice in her own unique way. The offer about the book club had been a gesture that Phoebe had appreciated greatly.

She could see father and daughter arguing, but they were too far off to hear what it was about and she pretended to have taken an interest in a nearby rubbish bin to give them a bit more privacy. They must be worried out of their minds, even if they did not show it very openly. It stung that Phoebe’s involvement with some wizards might even be the cause for their current distress and she hoped the boy would be found, alive, as much as she hoped that her husband would stay out of the picture. The authorities could have his friends, even that loyal puppy dog of a Henry Downs, with her compliments, as long as Andrew walked free.

It was not long before Mr Lewis and Jenny returned to her, faces determined. They looked like they were on the warpath and Phoebe had the unpleasant feeling that she was in their way somehow. Something also told her that was not a good place to be. She even felt a sudden urge to run.

‘Look,’ she began, pre-empting anything they might have said in the hope of not being in the warzone anymore, still trying to play the part of worried neighbour. She was a worried neighbour, but only partly now. Most of her was a very uneasy woman who felt she might have gotten herself caught up in matters beyond her comprehension. ‘If there is anything I can do to help…’

Her distraction manoeuvre proved to be unsuccessful. ‘Mrs Simmons, would you please come with us for a moment?’ Mr Lewis asked politely. And it was exactly that polite tone of voice, in combination with those words, that set Phoebe’s every alarm bell off. There was only one type of person who talked like that, and they worked for the police.

She hid her reaction of near panic best she could. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Mr Lewis ignored it. ‘If you please,’ he said. Phoebe knew full well that her pleasing did not count for anything. This was an order, plain and simple, and she didn’t think she could disobey, not with police swarming the place like they currently did.

Her mask might yet save her, though. It had done that countless times before and the police had always believed that she was just the ignorant wife, who truly didn’t know where her husband might be hanging out. ‘Of course.’ She conjured up a smile, but it felt fake, even to her. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help, please tell me.’

Mr Lewis opened the back door of a van and invited her in. She would have declined the invitation if only she could. As it was, she couldn’t. This man and maybe even Jenny – or was her name Ros? – were police. One didn’t say no to them unless they had something to hide. If she wanted to make these people believe that she had nothing to hide whatsoever, she should cooperate. So she ignored the insistent feeling of panic twisting her stomach into knots and making her hands feel sweaty, and did as she was asked.

‘As a matter of fact, there is something you could help us with, Mrs Simmons,’ Mr Lewis said as the door closed. All of a sudden, Phoebe felt rather claustrophobic. ‘You might tell us where your husband can be found.’

The panic boiled over, finding its way to her face and voice. ‘I… I don’t know what you mean.’ She looked in Jenny’s direction, looking for help, but found herself confronted with a face that didn’t look like she was going to offer any assistance.

‘Yes, you do,’ she said forcefully. ‘Don’t play dumb, Phoebe, it really doesn’t suit you. Your husband and his merry men have just abducted my nephew. Now, what I’d like to know is where they’ve bloody well taken him.’ The way she talked about Andrew betrayed an utter loathing of him. ‘And you know, don’t you? You’ve been hiding them for weeks on end.’

All of a sudden it was very cold in the van. ‘Jenny, I truly have no idea…’ Her attempt to find an excuse sounded pathetic even to her own ears. Normally she could handle this kind of people, but today her courage abandoned her. She was too taken aback by the sudden changes in Jenny’s attitude. If her name was even Jenny at all. And if that man was her father, she’d be very surprised indeed. Police they were, no doubt. But if they thought she was going to tell them where her husband was, they were sorely mistaken.

‘Enough!’ the man bellowed, slamming his fist against the van’s door, making the whole vehicle shake with the force of it. ‘You know where they are and you are going to tell me.’ The way he said it sounded more like he was stating a fact than that he was asking a question. She tried to interrupt, but she didn’t get the chance to put a word in. ‘No, you sit down and _listen_! I don’t care if you’re still in love with that little piece of shit or that you have some crappy morals about protecting him, because that man is going to kill my officer and is then going to blow hundreds of people to kingdom come.’ The words ended in a shout.

Phoebe tried to get in a word, while he was still in the process of getting his breath back. ‘Mr Lewis…’

It didn’t take him long however to get back to business. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he warned her. ‘Don’t you bloody well dare to try and deny it.’

Phoebe didn’t dare. Whoever he was, his rage was impressive and Phoebe didn’t doubt he had every right to throw her into a cell the moment he felt like it. But she was in no hurry to answer his questions either, but with her practically locked inside this van, she was caught between a rock and a hard place, with nowhere to run. The panic gripped her by the throat and left her with the feeling of being slowly choked. ‘Who are you?’ she managed to say. Mr Lewis had referred to John as his officer, not as a member of his family. Officer suggested the force of law.

‘Security services,’ Mr Lewis said. ‘I do believe you have heard some stories about how we deal with obstructive suspects?’ Her facial expression probably informed him that she had. ‘I can now tell you that these are all true, so unless you want to find yourself on the receiving end of such a treatment, I’d start talking now.’

Her heart was beating too fast, far too fast. She could hear it pounding in her ears, muffling all the other sounds around her. MI-5. She had MI-5 on her trail. It wasn’t just the police anymore. It had gotten a whole lot bigger if they brought the security services in. And yes, she had heard some horror stories about how Her Majesty’s secret service treated its guests. She was far too close to sampling the delights of aforementioned treatment for herself. And she couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t.

Her eyes darted around the van, desperate for an escape. She could have wept with relief the moment she found one. Mr Lewis – or whatever his real name was – had been standing in front of the door for most of his speech, but during the last part of it he had moved closer to her, and farther away from the door. It was now or never.

Phoebe was determined to make it a now, so she didn’t allow herself to think about it any longer. She gave the man a push, a thorough push out of the way with all the strength she could muster, shoving him roughly against some of the equipment in this van – listening devices no doubt – and moved before he or Jenny even got the time to respond. She threw open the door and made a run for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything’s just going from bad to worse, I’m afraid. Next time: Julius meets his captors. Until then, please review? I’d love to hear your opinion.


	19. Julius Burke IV

It were his protesting muscles that dragged Julius back to the world of the living in the end. His hands were tied behind his back tightly with some kind of what felt like hard, plastic rope of some kind. It cut his skin and forced his arms in a position that seriously started to hurt after a while. The closer he came to regaining full consciousness, the more aware he became of it.

And the trouble didn’t end there. His head felt like someone had been carrying out a lengthy tap dance on the very top of it, making his skull pound, which made it hard to focus or to think. He had trouble even remembering how he had come to be in this position or what had happened to him that made him end up here. Something told him it wasn’t good though.

His mouth felt parched, so he reckoned that whatever had happened to him, he’d been here for quite a while. The last thing he remembered was having a conversation on the telephone with his temporary boss, even if recounting the details of it was slightly problematic. He simply could not recall everything. He did remember Harry Pearce’s warning to get out of the flat, but why exactly was not clear. He had a lingering suspicion that it had something to do with the tall man he had seen just before that stunner had hit him right in the chest. That was bound to have done some damage. But how long ago that was, was a mystery to him.

He tried to move, but his attempt only served to demonstrate the fact that he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to. That his hands had been tied, that he had known already, but it was news that his legs were too. He could not move a finger, he had been strapped to this chair so tightly.

Julius Burke was not the type to suffer panic attacks. He left that kind of thing to Miss Hamilton, who had nervous as a default setting and panic as a close second. Today however he found he was in danger of imitating her behaviour. It was building up, threatening to boil over at even the slightest hint that things were indeed as bad as he feared. Because he recognised that man who had knocked him out in the flat. Dolohov’s face had been staring at him from the wanted posters the Ministry still put up in Diagon Alley. His cover had been blown and Dolohov would know all about him, after seeing him when Ros and he had interfered with his harassment of Phoebe Simmons.

And he was bound not to like that. It was even worse. Julius, as a pure-blood, would have to support the Death Eaters’ cause in their opinion. To not do that, to even actively fight it, that was a shame and a crime. He was a traitor of their own kind. He had heard that more than once before, not in the very least from members of his own family, even though his closest relatives had proven to be understanding of his career choice. But the ones that were not had never had a chance to punish him for it. The people whose mercy he was at now, they could and that very thought made his blood run cold.

There were voices around him. ‘I thought you said that this spell was going to wake him?’ The voice that spoke was unfamiliar.

‘It did. You should give him time. That was a powerful stunner that hit him.’

Julius would have to agree with that. Even though he had regained consciousness, his chest hurt like he’d had a run-in with an angry hippogriff. Thanks to Robert West’s pranking abilities, he had gained an intimate knowledge of what that felt like in fifth year of school. This feeling was just the same.

All of a sudden he felt a reluctance to return to consciousness, as he had been striving for just a minute ago. He didn’t recognise the voices that were speaking, but it was obvious that they had not invited him over for tea and biscuits. Unconsciousness was safe, because it meant that they couldn’t question him, couldn’t harm him. Had Robert West been here, he’d have opened his eyes the moment he awoke, but that was Gryffindor foolishness for you. It was more Slytherin to pretend to be knock-out until he had learned more. He was taking the time to gather intelligence, because never in a thousand years would he be heard to admit that he was scared out of his wits, not even to himself. Burkes didn’t get scared.

A hand shook him, roughly. ‘No reaction from this one,’ the first voice commented. ‘He’s still out. Are you sure you didn’t kill him?’

‘His heart’s beating,’ a second voice observed as a hand took his pulse. ‘And he’s awake all right. His heart’s racing in fear.’

That statement made Julius’s heart very near stop with terror. Of course it was logical that his cover would be blown eventually, but he’d have paid a lot of money to have a little more respite. But if he wanted to maintain a little dignity, he’d open his eyes of his own volition. Yes, he was more scared than he had ever been in his life, but he had dignity. He had faced bullies with glares and arrogance for most of his life. He could handle this. If he couldn’t, he was as good as dead anyway.

And so he opened his eyes, only to find that he needed to blink against the light. The place he was in was sparsely lit, but still he needed to get used to it after having been in the dark for so long. When he could see again, the first thing he noticed was that he was in some warehouse or other. There were hardly any windows and the light that did come through did seem to be manmade too. The daylight must have gone. He had been out for a good few hours.

The people in the room counted six and that corresponded neatly with the number of terrorists they were chasing. If he had been in any other situation, he would have scoffed at himself because of how quickly he adapted the spooks jargon, since wizards in general did not refer to dark wizards as terrorists. That was a Muggle word. But now his mind had no time for such idle ponderings, not while he was still surrounded by the very people he had been hunting for so long now.

A second glance around the room taught him that his assessment of the six people was correct, but there was one of them missing all the same. The woman, Phoebe Simmons, was nowhere in sight. There were only men here. In her place was one other man and one whom Julius, to his own shock, recognised.

‘Auror Dawlish?’ He blinked and blinked again. What was his superior doing here? Well, he wasn’t really Julius’s superior, but he was senior in rank. He was now dressed in black robes and did seem entirely too much at ease in the present company. He didn’t even look at Julius when the younger Auror called his name.

A traitor. A cold shiver went down his spine when he realised just how serious matters were. This would explain how it was possible that the terrorists had been one step ahead of them all the time. Every time the Aurors went to raid the latest hiding place of the still renegade Death Eaters, they were gone, even when they had been there only an hour before. But no one had even entertained the notion of a traitor in their very own department. Some people had started whispering about the possibility of a traitor in the Ministry, but not in the Auror Department itself. Still, it was speculation only. No one seemed to have a valid reason to act in such a manner and there were very many ways in which their dark wizards could have found out about an imminent raid.

But there were no other reasons, Julius now knew. Whether Dawlish was operating under his own free will or the Imperius curse did not even matter now. Julius himself strongly suspected the last, but he could by no means be certain about it. The Ministry was compromised and if Hamilton was still sending progress reports to the Ministry, then Section D was compromised as well. The press leak he suddenly remembered may not even be the reason his cover had been blown.

‘What do you want with me?’ The panic boiled over at that realisation, seeped  through in his voice, even though he tried to control it.

Dolohov stepped into his line of sight, an expression of disgust on his face. He absolutely loathed his captive. Julius had known this and yet the glare still made him want to run for cover. But there was nowhere to run, not with his legs out of order and his wand being only Merlin knew where. ‘You’re going to read something for us, Mr Burke.’

Whatever it was that he had been expecting, he was convinced that it wasn’t this. He had expected torture, murder or a combination of those two. He knew there was a very realistic chance that he would not make it out of this place alive. Death Eaters weren’t known for their mercy after all. They left a trail of corpses wherever they went. And he had spied on them, had tried to put an end to their actions. He had little doubt about his own fate. It frightened him beyond belief, but at the same time the notion popped up that if he was going to die anyway, he might as well do it his way, and on his terms. He was a descendant of one of the oldest pure-blood families of Great Britain and he would not die like a snivelling idiot begging for life, especially not when his pleas were sure to fall on deaf ears.

That did not change the fact that Dolohov’s words confused him, right up to the moment that the Death Eater placed a piece of parchment on his lap. Part of him was determined not to look at it, to defy them in that way, but curiosity won out and he caught himself looking at it anyway. The handwriting of the person who had written this was terrible, but still readable and it was the text itself that made him go all cold inside.

And then things started to make sense to him, even if he passionately wished that they had not done so. It was some kind of ultimatum and they would have him deliver it for maximum impact, the way the Muggle terrorists tended to do with their hostages. There was not too much he knew about that, but enough to understand that he now found himself in such a hostage situation.

And this truly was in Muggle style. His vision had cleared now and he could see a Muggle camera standing a few meters away from him and the man he knew as Henry Downs from the photograph standing behind it to handle it. This was going to be a Muggle hostage situation with him as the hostage. _Do as we say or the poor sod reading this will get killed before you can even blink your eyes._

The text itself only served to strengthen his assessment of that idea. No doubt it was written with him in mind, because it was written in first person and in his name. It stated that he was a prisoner of the Death Eaters and that unless the recipients of this message failed to comply with their demands, he would die within the hour. The demands, listed underneath that less than cheerful first part included the liberation of all the Death Eaters still in Azkaban and protection from persecution in future. Furthermore they demanded that no Muggles were to be included in the investigations of Magical Law Enforcement now or anytime in times yet to come.

Death Eaters on the street, no way to persecute them for their crimes, the perfect recipe for disasters and bloodbaths. For just a moment Julius could see the results of such actions and in that same moment he lost all fear of death he’d felt before. His goal all his life had been to put an end to the bad reputation that Slytherins enjoyed these days. This manifest would put not only that in jeopardy, but the society he’d sworn to protect as well. What was his life then in the greater scale of things?

Nothing, he knew. Harry Potter however would think differently. His boss had a reputation for wanting to be the hero, for wanting to save everyone he believed himself to be responsible for. No matter how much dislike he had for Julius personally, he was still his boss. He might even give in to the demands to get his recruit back.

And that was something Julius could never stand for. ‘I won’t read this.’ He looked up at Dolohov defiantly. His head was still pounding and his common sense had started on a crusade to point out just how foolish this idea was, but Julius had never been this sure about anything. He had not been trying to prove that not all Slytherins were bad just to have that undermined by the very people he had been chasing all over England. He was better than that, stronger.

 _That is reckless Gryffindor behaviour_ , his mind told him. He agreed with that; it was foolish. But not all the cunning in the world would save him now, he feared. And he could not deny that it felt good to defy these people. It meant he was not their puppet.

‘Will you not?’ another man said. Julius recognised him as Andrew Simmons. He’d only had a fleeting glance of him before, but it was enough. What was a surprise was that he had a wand in his hand and he clearly knew what to do with it, as became clear when he sent a Stinging Jinx his way. Julius winced, but tried to hide it. He would not snivel like a girl. He was a pure-blood and he had some pride. And some Stinging Jinx was not going to make him change his mind.

What was unnerving was that Andrew Simmons had magic. The longer this dragged on, the more complicated it became. And he did not even dare to think what this meant. Was Phoebe Simmons a witch? Was Henry Downs a wizard? What did they know now that they had one of their own in the Auror Department? The questions were whirling through his brain, but they remained unanswered. They only served to make him even more scared than he, Merlin help him, already was.

‘I won’t,’ he repeated. Not after he had been trying to prove so long that he was not in the business of helping Death Eaters, as so many people seemed to think he did. He would not be giving them the satisfaction of being right. For a moment that even seemed more important than the terrifying prospect of torture and death.

Dolohov smirked. ‘We’ll see about that. _Imperio_!’

His mind became strangely empty. Stranger still, he felt happy and relaxed as if nothing at all was wrong with the world. The rest of the world did not even really seemed to matter anymore anyway. He would be perfectly content to be in this state forever. He wouldn’t need to think about his aching wrists and his pounding head and the danger of having dozens of civilians blown sky-high when the balloon went up…

That shook him awake. What? Why was he even thinking like this? This was not who he was, what he was fighting for. He had been fighting for years now, for acceptance, for recognition, for a safer world. It was not like him at all to sit down and let things happen.

‘Read it,’ Dolohov’s voice said. ‘Read the text.’

And Julius wanted to. Something told him he would be very happy if he obeyed the command that had been spoken to him, even happier than he already felt. The command temporarily seemed to drown that other voice in his head, the voice that told him that this was a very bad idea indeed. Because not listening to this voice made his life considerably simpler, just as he had been wishing for years. He didn’t need to worry about people’s opinions about him, didn’t need to fret over operations that did not go according to plan, didn’t even need to think. After all those days of thinking till he thought he would go insane, this was heaven and he surrendered to it willingly. This delightful simplicity was the answer to his very prayers. And the only thing he needed to do in order to remain happy was to read one piece of text, hardly difficult at all.

‘Read the text!’ the voice commanded again.

But Julius did not read the text. That other voice was growing in strength again, reprimanding him for wanting to take the easy way out – which was not very Slytherin of him at all, more like spineless Hufflepuff – warning him that if he did obey this command, thousands of people might pay for that with their lives. And that he could not do.

‘Read it!’ Dolohov shouted.

But Julius’s urge to comply with his wishes was rapidly vanishing as common sense kicked in to save him from himself. This was not what he did, not what he wanted to do with his life. He was stronger than this, surely. The happiness still swirling in his head, clouding his thoughts, tempted him with the prospect of more happiness if he just did as he was told, but Julius had never been known to take the easy way. He was a fighter after all and he was not some man’s lapdog, not even when he made him feel like he hadn’t a care in the whole wide world, not when the price for that obedience would be so many lives that would be lost then.

And that decided him. Breaking free from the curse was something akin to having his head stuck in a bucket of ice water. At least it did the job of snapping him out of whatever sedated state he had been in since Dolohov had put the Unforgiveable on him. It felt as if his head had been wrapped in wool until he had woken up.

Unfortunately this also meant that the pain in his hands and head intensified, whereas it had been dulled before. But if that was the price for having control over his own mind, then it was a price well worth paying. He would not be a Death Eaters’ pawn, not ever.

He looked up again. ‘I will not read that crap,’ he stated loud and clear, just in case anyone would be in danger of not realising what exactly it was that he was doing. If he was going to die, he might as well do it in style, he might as well do it the way he wanted to. He didn’t feel heroic, didn’t even feel brave, as he might have believed he should had he spared the time to think. The truth was that it was probably good that no one could see his hands, so that no one could see them shake.

He would never see home again, would never know if his colleagues succeeded in putting an end to this group’s crimes. He would never know if they had gotten his information about the Fidelius Charm or that it had been taken from the flat along with him. And at the moment those things did not even truly seem to matter. His world had shrunken to this warehouse, which was probably the very place the Fidelius had been placed on, and the need, the burning _need_ to defy these men, because he would not go down without a fight, even if the only resistance he could put up was in saying no. It was better than nothing.

It wasn’t Slytherin, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw of him to do. In this very moment, Julius Burke was a Gryffindor through and through. And he did not care. It did not matter. No one he cared about was here to see it, to make him feel ashamed of his own behaviour. Gryffindor this may be, but at least he would go out fighting.

And he was in no way uncertain of his fate; there was bloody murder in Dolohov’s eyes and he did seem to be the one in charge of this merry bunch of misfits, as Ros had eloquently named them when she was in a bad mood. Idly he wondered what she would think once she learned of his death. Would she see it as confirmation for his uselessness as a spy? Julius surely wouldn’t put it past her to think like that.

‘You think you can defy me, blood traitor?’ he snarled at him.

Julius felt strangely calm. There was no turning back from his chosen path now anymore, not after having fought off the Imperius Curse and having defied this Death Eater for all to see and hear. And maybe it was because he did not really any choice anymore that he could conjure up the courage to answer in the way that he did. ‘I am defying you,’ he pointed out. ‘I won’t read this.’

The expression on Dolohov’s face might just be mistaken for a smile when one was half blind. To others it would be one of the most terrifying things they would ever see. It was like that for Julius. He could see the Death Eater’s hand tighten around his wand, a clear indication that he was about to use it and Julius found he took a deep breath, almost as if to brace himself for what he was sure was to come. _At least it’ll be quick_ , he thought and there was some consolation in that.

But it was not the Killing Curse that was sent at him when Dolohov opened his mouth. It was the other Unforgivable. ‘ _Crucio_!’

Julius’s world exploded in pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else feeling a bit sorry for Julius here? Anyway, I hope I didn’t make a complete mess of it with the spells and their effects. It was quite a bit of research to get that all right, so feel free to correct me if I made a mistake somewhere.  
> Next time: Chaos in Thames House. Until then, please review?


	20. Harry Pearce IV

The tension in the meeting room was so real that Harry was more or less surprised that it didn’t materialise out of thin air and took a chair with the rest of them. It was already an extra team member now that Julius had been abducted. The whole team had been gathered in the meeting room, along with that trio from the Ministry of Magic, who had not left after they had delivered the file on Rita Skeeter. Harry had been close to sending them away, but had refrained from that when he had heard Julius’s abduction over the phone. Their input may now be sorely needed.

Harry did not care much for the three Auror recruits the Ministry had sent him to train, especially not the two males. As it was, the young analyst was doing rather well once she was safely removed from her male colleagues. Right now she was Ruth’s younger double, the way she was sitting on the edge of her chair, almost invisible behind a stack of paper and parchment alike.

‘Zaf, how do we stand with Simmons’s mother?’ he demanded. To hell with arm’s length surveillance. If Julius had been taken, they could safely assume that the whole operation was exposed and if he had any experience with terrorists at all, they would retaliate, sooner rather than later. He might even need to anticipate raising the threat level to critical. With MI-5 involved, the vengeance might be acted out on the non-magical part of Britain, as those Death Eaters had loved to do in the nineties, something Harry Pearce was in no danger of forgetting.

‘She’s being collected as we speak,’ Zaf replied. ‘Robert and I will be interviewing her the moment she gets here.’

Harry gave a curt nod. ‘Ros, where’s the bloody Simmons woman?’ He would never admit it out loud, but the Senior Case Officer had been too right in her assessment that the wife of Andrew Simmons was someone they should not be underestimating. His back was still aching from where he had collided with the equipment in the van.

‘Still on the run. She thought she was being clever by dumping her phone, but CCTV picked her up when she booked into some bed and breakfast on the outskirt of town,’ Ros said, with grim satisfaction. If there was one thing the senior officer could not stand then it was when their opponents put one over them. Ros Myers was a perfectionist if ever he’d seen one. In a way, she reminded him of a younger Harry Pearce, even if her reasons for doing the job were vastly different. ‘I’ll be talking to her the minute _she_ gets here.’ The tone of voice did bode rather ill for Simmons’s wife, but Harry was not quite in the mood to feel particularly sorry for her, not with his own officer still missing and Phoebe Simmons being their best chance at finding him before all hell broke loose on the streets of London.

‘Ehm, Harry, would it not be better if I talked to her?’ Ruth asked timidly. ‘She might feel more up to talking with a different approach.’

She found herself on the receiving end of a glare so intense that by all rights she should have been dead on the floor. ‘We don’t have the time for the bloody softly-softly approach, Ruth.’ The words coming out of Ros’s mouth were as scathing as the glower that accompanied them. ‘By the time your sodding tea and sympathy got through to her, Julius will be dead, along with dozens of civilians.’

‘Ros, that’s enough,’ Harry heard himself say.

He could not deny that he agreed with the sentiment she voiced, but her constant picking at Ruth was too much. There was nothing the intelligence analyst had done that justified such behaviour. Ruth was just a little more gentle in her approach of her work, which was not necessarily wrong, but rather useless in this case, when they did not have the luxury of time. They had lost control of their only way in and now they were back to where they started, but with the looming threat of another bloodbath hanging over their heads. It was not a tempting prospect.

Ros clearly was about to protest, so Harry quickly changed the topic. ‘Amy, was there anything in those papers that could be of use?’

Amy nodded and wrung her hands. ‘I think he’s used Prior Incantato on Lestrange’s wand, sir,’ she replied and when she saw the many blank faces that were staring back at her, she added: ‘A spell that reveals what spells a wand had performed before. In theory it could reveal all the spells a wand has ever performed if the caster only takes long enough, but I don’t think Julius has gone back more than four weeks, because there are no spells noted that would account for the Manchester debacle. Most of the ones he found are just household spells and the like…’ The young Auror was starting to ramble.

‘Miss Hamilton, was there anything of use at all?’ he demanded, interrupting her little speech.

The witch blushed a bright crimson in embarrassment, but recovered quickly and then nodded enthusiastically. ‘There was, sir,’ she answered, stabbing her pen at the paper she was holding, not unlike Ruth would sometimes do, Harry observed. ‘The last spell he found out about is the Fidelius Charm.’ She looked at the rest of the team. ‘It’s a spell that hides a secret in another person, the Secret Keeper, and others can only be party to the secret if the Secret Keeper tells them, but they cannot tell the secret to others themselves.’ Harry nodded, being familiar with the concept himself, thanks to its extensive use during the war in the nineties. ‘The most common use for the Fidelius Charm these days is to hide places and houses, which would make it a logical assumption that the Death Eaters have a magically secured location somewhere.’

‘And it will be bloody difficult to find it,’ the red-haired Auror by the name of Ron Weasley commented, a frown on his forehead. ‘Unless we can find the Secret Keeper and make them tell what they know.’

‘There are no other ways?’ Adam demanded. The Section Chief had never been a great fan of working with wizards, but his enthusiasm, which had been practically non-existent to begin with, was lessening by the minute. Harry could not say that he really blamed him for that. Give him Al-Qaeda any day. That was the kind of terrorist he did know how to deal with. Even in spite of his experience with the magical world in the nineties, he still had trouble keeping up with it all.

Harry Potter shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’

Well, there were no magical ways at least. ‘Get digging into whatever property they possess,’ he told Ruth and Miss Hamilton. ‘Somewhere, somehow there must be a record of something. Unless you now start to suggest that records magically disappeared?’ he added with a wry look at the more senior wizards and witch in the room.

Mrs Weasley shook her head hesitantly. ‘If it was bought in the Muggle way, then I don’t think that would have happened. We never had such a situation before, but it’s well possible that the address won’t have been erased from a non-magical document the way it would be from a magical. But we cannot be sure entirely.’

That was a risk the Section Head was willing to take. ‘Then see what you can find,’ he ordered the analysts. ‘Things like that leave paper trails. Find it.’ And there was a very good chance that the property had been bought the Muggle way, with Andrew Simmons living like a Muggle for most of his life. If the Ministry had never registered him as a wizard, it was highly unlikely he would have bought a magical house, because if the Ministry excelled at anything, it was bureaucratic nonsense.

‘What do we do?’ Harry Potter asked. The young man was a little pale, had been ever since he realised that his officer had been taken prisoner by the Death Eaters. He had been trying to impart the seriousness of this situation on his Thames House counterpart, but the Section Head hadn’t needed the reminder of what could happen to officers that had been taken by the people they were usually hunting. Helen, Danny, Fiona. The names popped up without him wanting to. It was gruesome what had happened to them and Harry would do a lot to prevent the same thing happening to Julius.

‘I suggest you go back to your Ministry and try to work out who that bloody Secret Keeper is,’ he answered snappishly. Mr Potter was supposed to be experienced when it came to Death Eaters. Hadn’t they taught him to take independent decisions? ‘And put your Minister on alert. We may be facing an category one terrorist threat.’

That would be the most logical thing to happen. Terrorists tended to panic when they found out that MI-5 was into them. When that happened, they more often than not brought the attack forward. It was a way of preventing MI-5 interfering before they could blow hundreds of people to kingdom come or it was a way of retaliation. And death Eaters really were terrorists, magical or not. Either way, they should be anticipating another attack in the next few days. Normally that should be the Ministry of Magic’s headache, but Section D was involved now. They might as well do whatever it took.

Mrs Weasley nodded. ‘I’ll do that.’ She already got to her feet and glared at the two men when they didn’t seem to do the same. ‘Come on, Ronald, Harry!’ She turned back to the head of Section D. ‘You’ll need to alert the PM, I’m afraid, sir.’

He was planning on it, but it didn’t do his mood any good that he was being told how to do his job by a bunch of Aurors who clearly didn’t know how to do theirs. But if he didn’t want to ruin the cooperation, he needed to hold his tongue, somewhat. ‘I do trust that you will keep my people informed of any progress you’ll be making.’

This time it was the woman’s turn to nod. ‘Of course.’

Harry waited until they had left and turned to his team. ‘Get going,’ he ordered. ‘Zaf, review the CCTV around the flat of the past few hours. I want to know where they came from. Malcolm, get me the PM on a secure line soon as you can.’ Normally he made reports such as these to the Home Secretary, but Nicholas Blake was not briefed on the magical world, which meant he now needed to pass him by and take the issue to the highest level right away. The prime minister was unlikely to appreciate this – the man who held the post in the nineties had not been thrilled with phone calls such as the one he was about to make, he recalled – but sometimes needs must.

And so he waited for Malcolm to make contact and then, in the relative privacy of his own office – as in so far he had privacy in an office that resembled a goldfish bowl for all intents and purposes, except for the lack of water and fishes – he picked up the phone. ‘Prime minister, this is Harry Pearce from Section D of MI-5, Thames House,’ he announced when the phone on the other side was answered.

‘Mr Pearce?’ The tone of voice betrayed that the PM was somewhat surprised to be contacted by the security service directly, when usually these matters were dealt with by the Home Secretary first. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I am afraid we are currently dealing with a category one terrorist threat,’ Harry replied.

There was some sputtering down the line. ‘Mr Pearce, I thought this was usually dealt with by the Home Secretary or COBRA.’ _Not today, it bloody well isn’t_. ‘Why do you come to me?’ Classic politician, Harry could not help but think. He was trying to push the responsibility away from him already.

In that case Harry had bad news for him. And his patience with politicians was at the moment practically non-existent. There was only so much political babble he could handle on a day and he’d had too much from the Minister of Magic already. Unfortunately the PM was not a disobedient officer he could scold and threaten with the paper archive to his heart’s content. ‘I am afraid that the sensitive nature of the operation dictates that this is taken to the highest level,’ he said smoothly. ‘We believe the terrorists to be wizards.’

Another round of sputtering followed that announcement and Harry politely gave him the time to catch his breath. ‘Wizards? Mr Pearce, are you sure?’

 _I would not have called if I wasn’t bloody well certain_ , he thought irritably. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. It would not do him any favours to lose his patience now, no matter how little remained of it. ‘Are you familiar with the Manchester debacle?’

It turned out that the PM was not familiar with it and Harry spent the next quarter of an hour detailing as much as he could without making the man suffer a heart attack. Politicians rather never knew too much and Harry was perfectly all right with that most of the time; he usually didn’t share any more of his information than he strictly had to. He did explain the origins, the Death Eaters still on the loose, and their possible association of non-magical people. He explained that therefore a joined operation had been launched, which was blown wide open as of this morning – the exact reason for that particular disaster  he edited out – and that as a result of this, one of his officers had been taken captive and his best asset – well, she could have been – had done a runner.

‘I understand, Mr Pearce,’ came the too polite voice on the other end. Harry knew that tone all too well. The other man was about to try and play it down. And he was not disappointed. ‘This is all very serious, Mr Pearce, but I do not see how this relates to an imminent terrorist outrage.’

And there was no proof of such an attack, Harry knew. He had nothing to go on, but the experiences of thirty odd years in the Service had made his intuition for trouble of this nature razor sharp. Of course that was something he could not sell to the politicians. ‘We were onto another attack in London within the next week,’ he said. It was not entirely a lie. London had not been a target before and there was a distinct chance it would become one in the very near future, especially if the Death Eaters were planning to act their revenge for being unmasked out, which they were very likely to do. ‘We have solid reason to believe that this attack will now be brought forward.’ His solid reasons were non-existent and the PM didn’t ask. ‘I must ask you to raise the threat level to critical.’

‘Mr Pearce, I cannot raise the threat level without having to offer an explanation to the House,’ the PM protested.

It was the last straw, Harry supposed. He had a bunch of magical terrorists on his hands, his officer had been abducted by them and here he was, listening to the pathetic excuses of a man who had clearly not yet grasped the true extent of the danger this country was currently facing. ‘I think you’d rather explain a raised threat level than hundreds of civilian casualties when the balloon goes up,’ he snapped into the phone.

That seemed to set the prime minister’s priorities straight and the rest of the conversation was an issue of half a minute. He hadn’t looked at it that way yet, the politician had said. Damn right he hadn’t or he’d have been a bit more cooperative. At least he now could use whatever resources necessary to locate the Death Eaters and, consequently, Julius Burke. Harry rubbed his forehead wearily. _If the boy is still alive by now_. He knew wizards could kill faster than he could blink his eyes and they had never hesitated to use that Killing Curse before. There was no reason to assume that this would be any differently.

He shot upright when there was a knock on the door and mentally braced himself for more bad news. ‘Enter!’

Not surprisingly it was Ruth who came into the office, glancing nervously from him to the phone, correctly guessing the reason for his foul mood. ‘Did he agree to help?’ she asked hesitantly. She lingered in the doorway and Harry beckoned her to come further in.

The Section Head nodded. ‘He did, after some persuasion. Bloody politicians,’ he added under his breath, before he remembered that he was not alone and that there was likely to be a valid reason for Ruth to seek him out. ‘What is it?’

These three words always seemed to turn a switch with the intelligence analyst. Nervousness forgotten, she launched into an explanation. ‘I took the liberty of putting everything related to Death Eaters on the internet on alert and it just flagged a new website. At least I’ve never heard of it, but…’

Harry wasn’t given to interrupting Ruth, but there was a first for everything. ‘What is it, Ruth?’ he asked impatiently.

The nervousness returned full force, despite the words that seemed to be magic for the intelligence analyst. ‘That’s it, Harry. I don’t know. There’s nothing technically on the website yet.’

Harry was severely tempted to roll his eyes in exasperation, had he been the kind of man who acted in such a fashion. As he wasn’t, he settled for a stern look. ‘Then why come to me?’

‘Because there is an announcement that says that a live broadcast will soon appear on the site. There’s no mention of who’s broadcasting anything, or why, or even what they are broadcasting, but it was flagged in relation to the Death Eaters. And now that Julius is taken, it’s just too much coincidence.’ She threw up her hands to express her frustration.

And Harry was very tempted to agree. Because Ruth was right. This mysterious website had been flagged as Death Eater related and a broadcast announcement appearing so shortly after a hostage had been taken, that could be no coincidence. Harry had witnessed too many hostage situations to be able to think anything else. ‘Have Malcolm trace it,’ he ordered. ‘See if there is anything he can find.’

Ruth shook her head. ‘I already did. He couldn’t find out. He reckons that something is interfering with the signal.’

Magic. He didn’t have to assume the worst. He didn’t have to think yet that this was the work of Death Eaters. Yes, it were coincidences, far more than he was comfortable with, but he would not be the first to fall into the trap of connecting dots that should not be connected, just because he wanted to see a connection, even when there was none. But he didn’t think so.

He was about to say this when another knock on the door prevented him from doing so. ‘Enter!’

This time it was Amy Hamilton who came in, but she looked at Ruth rather than Harry. ‘Ruth, you need to come quickly. Something’s happening.’

Harry Pearce had no time for vague descriptions today. ‘What kind of something?’ he demanded sharply.

‘It’s the website, sir,’ she replied. Normally she would have blushed bright red when she had made some kind of mistake – even if it was something like overlooking the boss in his own office – whereas now the young witch was deathly pale. ‘They’re broadcasting.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we’ll see what it is that it’s broadcasted and Robert has a change of heart. Until then, please review?


	21. Robert West III

Robert did not know what to think any longer. That had to be a novel experience for him, since Robert West was used to knowing exactly what to make of things and persons. It made his life considerably easier to live. Death Eaters were bad, Aurors were good. Julius was bad, Amy was good. It was the world in black and white. Some called him naïve for thinking like that, but Robert disagreed.

It was a necessity of life in this line of work to think in blacks and whites. They were the good guys, catching the bad guys. Any other approach to his work was doomed to fail. If he allowed the greys to get in the way of the blacks and whites, he would be confused, uncertain of what to do.

Yet this was what had happened to him. For as long as he had known Julius Burke, it had been quite obvious that the Slytherin was a nasty piece of work with a thorough dislike of Muggles and Muggle-borns that he did not even bothered to try to hide from the world. In Robert’s mind that put him on the same level as those bastards they were always trying to catch, because a lot of Death Eaters had escaped from the Battle of Hogwarts and were doing everything they could to keep out of Azkaban. How Burke had ever gotten into the Auror department was a mystery to him. Yes, Mr Potter was known for making the occasional controversial decision, but this was taking things a bit far.

And so Robert had stayed watchful, kept an eye on Burke. He seemed to be doing his job well enough, but the itching powder that had landed them all in Thames House had really only increased his doubts. It had not been a Death Eater they had been after, but the man had several dark items in his possession the Aurors believed he was on the verge of selling to the group that was also responsible for the Manchester debacle. The items had gone missing, just as the wizard who owned them. If Robert’s suspicions were right and Julius was involved with them, then it would not have been too bad if the suspect did a runner. And what better way to make it look like less than it was by simply bringing in the itching powder and making a colleague responsible for the failure? No one thought anything of it. It was a childish prank, but everyone expected that from him. And as long as Robert didn’t have anything more substantial to go on, he had to keep his suspicions to himself.

And he was not at all at ease with sending him undercover, right where he could do damage, should he indeed be the mole Robert feared him to be. On the other hand, it was only a Muggle woman they were trying to butter up to and not the very heart of MI-5. There was only so much damage he could do in his current position. The most important things happened on the Grid and Julius would not step foot there until the operation was concluded. That was a relief.

That was what he had thought right up to the moment when he heard that Julius had been captured. Surely that could not mean well? Surely that had to mean that he was on their side? On the other hand, it could still be possible that Burke was one of the Death Eaters and they had pulled him out when they reckoned the operation got too dangerous. There was always the possibility of that.

But then, why had Burke made a job of finding out what Lestrange had been up to? His note about the use of the Fidelius Charm was a valuable clue and one that he would not have left for his enemies to find if he were on their side. It did no longer make any sense to Robert. He was just left with the lingering suspicion that maybe things weren’t as black and white as he had always thought. And it frightened him more than he was ready to admit.

And this website was just topping it all off in a way that sent shivers down his spine. Not for the first time he cursed his own ignorance of Muggle ways and technology. This assignment may still be the most foolish thing the Ministry had come up with in a long time – which was saying something – but the operation itself was well worth the time and effort. But for the moment it seemed they had reached an all-time low.

That became all the more apparent when they were all called to the meeting room. Someone was broadcasting something on that website Ruth had found and it had most of the section in all of a fluster. It was nowhere more obvious than in Harry Pearce, whose face might very well have conjured up the most serious storm this country had witnessed in many years, despite the fact that he was not even a wizard himself. He was one of the last to enter the meeting room, with Ruth and Amy hot on his heels, the latter looking slightly out of breath because of her run to and from the Section Head’s office.

The screen did not yet show a lot. In fact, there was very little to be seen. They were looking at what appeared to be the inside of some kind of warehouse with just one window high up in the wall. Given that it was already dark outside, that did not shed much light on the scene, literally and figuratively.

Harry Pearce cast one glance at the screen and then turned to Malcolm. ‘Is there any way that you can check where this is?’

The technician looked doubtful. A frown appeared in his forehead. ‘Maybe,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Personally Robert didn’t see how anyone could work with so little, but he had to admit that it was better than doing nothing anyway. They were grasping at straws and he knew it. They had almost nothing on their suspects. Even the smallest thing was welcome now, just to give them something to do. Doing something at least gave him the feeling that he was being useful. The lack of results was starting to undermine his confidence though. They had a pretty clear view of what the Death Eaters were capable of and even of why they were all working together, but the two most important things they needed to find out were still as mysterious as they had been when they had started this operation: where they were and what in Merlin’s name they were planning on doing next.

The team was tense, but no one more so than Ros Myers. She didn’t pace the room like a caged lion, the way Adam Carter did, and didn’t send angry glares at the screen like Harry Pearce. She was standing completely still. She could have turned into a stone statue for all Robert knew.

The silence was become so awkward that the Gryffindor was almost glad when something happened on the screen. It was better than waiting here whilst not knowing what they were waiting for. A chair was levitated into view, which indicated that magic was indeed involved in all of this. Not that Robert had expected any different from a thing – even if it was something as Muggle as a website, whatever that was anyway – that was related to Death Eaters.

It was not the magic that took him by surprise, but the person sitting in the chair. No, sitting was not exactly the word he was looking for. The young man in the chair was more slumping than sitting, only held in place by the bonds at his wrists and ankles that secured him to the furniture.

Burke, his mind supplied and it was right. Julius Burke was the one on the screen and Robert’s stomach turned to ice instantly. There was not a single doubt that the Slytherin recruit was not involved with the Death Eaters, not in the way Robert had believed him to be. He barely seemed conscious at all and he was badly bruised. One eye was shut because of the bruising around it and he seemed to be bleeding from various wounds on face and hands. The Auror had a strong suspicion that he was bleeding elsewhere as well, but his clothes prevented him from making sure. He was not sure he wanted to know anyway.

There was a piece of parchment on his lap, but Julius did not look at it as he addressed the people who were watching him, even though he could not see them. ‘My name is Julius Burke, recruit in the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic,’ he spoke. He may be bruised and battered, but his voice was steady and he was in control of his face. ‘I am also a blood traitor, who conspired with Muggles and Mudbloods to undermine the wizarding society.’ If there was any emotion Robert could name – and that was difficult enough with Julius sounding as cold and unemotional as usual – then it would be loathing. It was however difficult to determine who the loathing was directed at.

‘For this I will be sentenced to death unless my boss complies with the following requests: the immediate release of all Death Eaters still in Azkaban and a reassurance from the Minister of Magic that they will face no further persecution in future. Furthermore it is demanded that all cooperation with Muggles will be abandoned forthwith. At no time in the future will you be allowed to seek out Muggle aid in wizarding affairs, lest they corrupt aforementioned society.’ The loathing became more obvious now, more pronounced. It seemed like Burke hated the fact that he was reading this. And even though he was clearly badly injured, he did not show it. Calm, collected and cold, those were the words to describe him. It was pure-blood arrogance, a Slytherin attitude, but Robert found that in this moment he might even be in immediate danger of admiring his colleague.

‘They can’t mean that!’ Amy exclaimed. She was staring at the screen in horror. ‘It will be anarchy on the streets if they do that.’ She bit her lip, looking at the messenger. And it didn’t take a great intellect to work out what she was afraid of. It was rather obvious. If they did not comply with the Death Eaters’ requests, then Julius would be killed and after that it would be Manchester debacle all over again, all over the United Kingdom until they had gotten their way, after which it would presumably only become worse. The prospect made Robert West want to vomit on the spot.

He’d always known that these people were serious, but so far they had never known what it was that they were so serious about. The attacks had dragged on for months and months, but never before had they voiced their goals. Why was that, he wondered? Was all that just a prelude to what was to come, to show what they were capable of, to get the Ministry’s undivided attention? It could be one of the three, or simply all of them. What was certain was that these people did not care about the lives they took, not at all.

And for possibly the first time in his life the Gryffindor felt something else for Julius than mere annoyance and anger. He felt afraid _for_ him. They had never gotten on, a rivalry that had started before they had even boarded the Hogwarts Express for their first year. Things had only gone from bad to worse after that. The rivalry had turned to enmity and Robert would stand by his assessment of the Slytherin as an arrogant and Muggle-hating bastard, but what he could no longer deny was that Julius was serious about this operation. If he had agreed to read this willingly, he would not look like he did now, after all.

‘You have until dawn to comply with these demands,’ Julius went on. This time there was a slight tremor in his voice. ‘If you do not, you will see me die and my head will be sent to the Ministry as a reminder of how foolish it is not to do as they are told.’ He swallowed and there was a hint of fear in his eyes now as well. ‘We would like to remind you of what we can do and we will do it should you not heed us. Manchester will be nothing compared to what we can and will do if you do defy us.’

Robert had been right to fear for him. Burke himself was clearly frightened and he would have very good reason to be so. They had until dawn to do as they were told and the Auror knew enough of both Harrys to know that they would never set all the Death Eaters loose to do as they pleased on the streets of England’s cities. Such a situation would be impossible to contain. It would be the Second Wizarding War all over again and Robert had seen one of them already, enough to know that hell would not even begin to describe the situation they would be facing then.

Another man stepped into view. He was wearing a wizard’s robes and looked thoroughly pleased with himself. Robert recognised him immediately. He had never met him in person, but he had been on enough wanted posters over the years. ‘As you can see, your officer is still alive, Mr Potter,’ Antonin Dolohov said. ‘We have been given the impression that he would like to remain so for quite some years yet. You would do well to hurry. We are not known for our patience with blood traitors.’

‘Don’t listen to him!’ a voice called out.

Robert for a moment was confused who had spoken and it appeared that he was not alone in that. The whole team seemed a bit bewildered by the sudden exclamation and so, it looked, was Dolohov. But then he swivelled around and Robert knew who had spoken.

Did Burke have a death wish to speak up like that? He must know what this action meant surely? But he didn’t seem to even stop to think as he went on. He may be hurt, but he stared at the camera with the one eye that was not swollen shut, a determined expression on his face. Suddenly there was nothing slumping about his posture anymore. He looked like he was bracing himself for a fight. No, he looked like Robert when he was defying some authority figure. ‘Don’t listen to a word he says!’ he repeated. There was nothing composed about him anymore. He was worked up over this in a way that Robert recognised as his standard way to fight his battles. ‘Dawlish is a spy in the Auow!’ The sentence ended in a scream of pain as someone kicked him in the stomach, effectively shutting him up.

But the message had arrived. It was a live broadcast and there was no way that the Death Eaters could cast an Obliviate on them now. The damage was done. And it was shocking news. It was suspicious indeed that the Death Eaters always seemed to be five steps ahead of them all the time and some even had started to whisper that they must have a sympathiser in the Ministry itself. How else would they know when they had to run for it again? They could only know that if someone told them to.

Robert himself had been among the whisperers and he had one very likely candidate in mind as well. Julius was a Slytherin, coming from a pure-blood family who hated Muggles and were none too fond of Muggle-borns either. And he was working in the Auror Department. He had let a suspect walk because of that itching powder. There was no one else in such a good position to sell their secrets to the Manchester group. He was the _only_ candidate in Robert’s mind and he had not hesitated to voice that opinion to anyone willing to listen to him. There had been more enough willing ears.

Now he was forced to admit that he had not only been accusing the wrong man of treason, but that he had never really gotten the measure of his rival too. He was far more devoted to his work than Robert had ever given him credit for. He would love not to believe it, but there was not much of a choice now, not when Burke had risked his life in warning them about a traitor in their own ranks, whose identity he must have discovered since he had been taken.

And now Robert found himself wondering what that said about him. It was already obvious that he was no Death Eater, but it was very well possible that he was the farthest away from it that anyone could be. It was just that it seemed to disagree with his views on the world. He hated the Muggle world and had never given the impression that he liked the Muggles any better than their world. Could such a person truly oppose Death Eaters?

Blacks and whites did not work in this situation. They were useless, he now realised, and maybe they had always been useless. He had uttered accusations about someone that he now was powerless to defend as he was beaten to make him stop talking. Burke must have known that his actions would have consequences. He looked like he had already found out exactly what kind of consequences defying those people could have. He looked like he had been in a street fight Muggle style, on the losing side. And he did not like what that meant. Personal dislike or not, Julius had taken huge personal risks to tell them what they needed to know and Robert was forced to admit that he felt a measure of guilt for never really taking the time to get to know the man that was going to be his colleague for the rest of their working lives, provided the Slytherin lived past dawn. And that was something that was not at all certain.

‘Let that serve as a reminder to you what we will do to him if you refuse to do as we asked,’ Dolohov said icily. He had his back turned on Julius, who was moaning in pain after the beating he had received from the man who looked like Andrew Simmons, even if it was difficult to make out for sure when he only saw his back. Robert had known that he was dangerous before, but for some reason the message only seemed to land now that he saw how little he cared for human lives. And Julius was at their mercy. One of their own was in danger of getting killed in this. Because that was who Julius was; one of them, even if Robert had only just come to acknowledge that fact.

He still stared at the screen long after it had gone blank, shocked to the core. They only had a mere nine hours, at most, before the Death Eaters would make good on the threat they had uttered. Robert was familiar enough with the concept of that group not to make the mistake to think that those had been idle threats. If he wanted any confirmation for that idea, Julius had given it to him by sounding so scared. Not that he had meant to sound scared, the Auror would bet, but he had sounded it all the same. Nevertheless he had been brave, Gryffindor brave, recklessly brave. And maybe Robert owed it to him to find some Slytherin qualities in himself to get him out before it was too late.

Harry Pearce seemed to have been thinking along the same lines. ‘Right, that’s it. We’re going to get him out.’

It was telling that no one even asked if they were going to comply with the demands. There was never a question. _We do not negotiate with terrorists_ , Zaf had told him on his first day here. Robert took it that meant they would not give into blackmail either. And he was all for that. It just had the minor complication of endangering Burke’s life and Robert found he was not ready to do that.

‘What do we do?’ Amy asked. She looked anxious and far too pale to be healthy. Robert laid an arm around her shoulder. She did not even seem to notice it, too preoccupied with thinking of some kind of solution. ‘They must be in their secure place. We won’t get in there without the Secret Keeper telling us where it is.’

‘Then I suggest you keep looking, Miss Hamilton,’ Mr Pearce said. He sounded on edge and short-tempered. ‘Malcolm, I want the video pulled off the net right away, before the press catch wind of it. God forbid that the bloody press have their merry way with this. Zaf, Robert, talk to Simmons’s mother and get whatever you can from her. Ros, you deal with the wife. Squeeze them until the pips squeak. Somewhere there must be information that will lead us straight to them. Ruth, Amy, I don’t care how many stones need turning to find that warehouse, just do it. I don’t care if it belongs to the pope or the US president. Get onto it. Adam, my office, now. And get someone to take that video to the Ministry of Magic and tell them to get rid of the bad apple as soon as they can. Heaven forbid they’ll bolt to God knows where before we can get to them.’ He stalked out of the meeting room with the Section Chief on his heels.

They were not really any closer to Julius, but at least someone knew what he was doing and that should be enough to be getting on with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Phoebe is brought in for questioning. Please review? I’d so love to hear what you all think of the story so far!


	22. Phoebe Simmons III

This had been a mistake. Phoebe was not entirely sure what the this was, though. It might refer to her running away from the van. Now she was going to be questioned in some dark and secret room and she might never see daylight again, whereas they might have been kinder if she had not run away, but had pretended to cooperate. It might also refer to her decision to ever get close to Jenny Lewis, or whatever her name was. Or maybe this referred to her decision to let Andrew and his friends into the upstairs flat. If she was really pessimistic, it might even refer to her marriage to Andrew.

And heaven knew she was feeling pessimistic now. How could she not be when she was stuck in this room with no windows, too bright light and hardly any furniture at all, save for the table and the two chairs, one of which she was currently sitting on. The most important thing about this room was that there was no way out though. Oh, there was a door, all right, but she would never be able to make use of it. A code was needed to leave and Phoebe did not have that code.

That knowledge did not do anything to help her calm her nerves. It was quite the contrary. She wanted to scream and shout and bang at the door, begging for someone to come and just get her out of here. Panic was gripping her by the throat as she realised how powerless she truly was. No one knew where she was – she did not even know that herself – so no one would come looking for her. And these people would not let her leave, not while she had not told them what they wanted to know. And who was to say they would let her go even if she did? In their opinion she had been aiding and abetting criminals and they were unlikely to just thank her for her cooperation and let her go. That was not how things were done and Phoebe feared that more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

And to think that it seemed to have gone off without a hitch to begin with. She had gotten away from Jenny – or Ros? – and the elderly spy and no one had tried to stop her. Oh, there had been a good deal of shouting, but by the time the other people were going to act on it, she was long gone. And she knew the place better than those spooks did. She knew every backstreet and every alley. Disappearing had hardly been a feat at all.

The next few hours had been chaos. Phoebe thanked her lucky stars that she had her wallet on her when she bolted, which meant that she was not entirely powerless, even though she had nothing else taken with her. She had dumped her mobile phone in the nearest waste bin she could find though. All those TV series told you they could track phones and while Phoebe knew full well not to believe anything she saw on television, she thought it better not to take any risks.

And that included a three hour hell of London public transport. She had taken random tubes and buses, had gone there, back and then in a completely different direction again. By the time she had gotten off the last bus she was not even sure where she was herself. And that would have to do. She had been tired, frightened and there was a bed and breakfast just across the street. It wasn’t ideal, but she didn’t know what else she could do. Tomorrow she would get out of town. Where to, she did not know, but she would figure something out, as she had always done.

But all her plans counted for nothing when those men had come knocking, demanding rather than asking that she came with them. And now she was in this room, waiting. She did not even know what she was waiting for, but it would be safe to say that it would not be pleasant. One heard stories about those things and they could not be all that unfounded. Well, she had thought them to be mere products of over-imaginative minds, but this room was doing nothing at all to contradict them.

Phoebe could feel her hands tremble and she clenched them into fists to stop it. Andrew had once told her that she was a tough one, someone who could live through the greatest trouble and come out unbroken and she now sincerely hoped he was right about that. Because when it all came down to it, she didn’t think she could really do it. She could not betray her husband, no matter what he’d done. She may hate the fact that he was always up to something, that he never seemed to be able to just settle down and get a good job; it was the reason they had split up in the first place. But she loved him. Heaven help her, she loved him. And she didn’t think she could betray him any more than she thought she could chop off her right hand. She just couldn’t.

And that determination was what helped her calm down in the end, because it gave her a purpose. And that, she found, was what she needed. This room still frightened her, as did the prospect she was facing. It was unlikely to change just because she had made up her mind; things were never that easy. Life was never easy. Twenty years of marriage to Andrew Simmons had taught her that lesson if nothing else. But hopefully it would help her to keep sight of why she would have to keep her mouth shut.

And it was not as if she didn’t have any experience in this game. She had fooled the police for years. Could these spooks really be so different? Yes, they had caught her off guard and that was why she had panicked in the first place. She wasn’t panicking now, not anymore. If she could ignore the fear, she could at least think straight and that was what was needed now.

Just in time. The door opened and Jenny came in. She was still in the clothes she had worn that afternoon and she looked tired. Well, she looked as tired as Jenny could look. She didn’t seem the kind of woman who showed any emotion or weakness, not even something like fatigue. She was as composed as Phoebe had ever seen her, yet something was different and it took her a few seconds to figure out what it was. Jenny was pale, uneasy. It seemed as though she had just been shocked by something.

‘Jenny, I assure you that this is a mistake,’ she hastened to say. She had been playing this game with the police so often. It might still work with this woman.

But it wasn’t likely. Jenny looked positively angry and forbidding. ‘Most of our suspects say exactly the same,’ the spy said icily. ‘Most of them sing quite a different song after a few hours.’

The panic, having been only temporarily subdued, made a spectacular return. ‘I panicked,’ she tried to explain. ‘I didn’t mean to harm your boss, I swear.’

Jenny raised an eyebrow. ‘For someone who claims to be innocent, you took a lot of effort to shake us off your trail,’ she observed. ‘Dumping your phone, going round and round in public transport? It almost looks as if you’ve been trained in counter-surveillance. Now, no one entirely innocent would know that.’

Phoebe crossed her arms in front of her chest to keep herself from shaking like a leaf. If she only braced herself tight enough, she might keep herself from falling apart. Jenny frightened her now and something told her that the woman had always been like that. She was not nice. Whenever she had been, she had only been pretending. This was the real Jenny and it did nothing at all to reassure Phoebe that she was going to be all right.

‘I watch television,’ she pointed out.

Jenny merely rolled her eyes in what seemed exasperation. ‘Didn’t your shows warn you about CCTV?’ she asked sardonically.

Of course. She had completely forgotten about those. Her focus had been on shaking any real spies on foot off her trail. She had never spared a thought for the cameras that were haunting her every step. She might soon pay the price for that mistake.

‘What do you want?’ she asked nervously.

‘What were you doing in Manchester four weeks ago?’

Phoebe was not sure what she had been expecting and the question took her completely by surprise. Therefore she didn’t think before she answered. ‘Visiting my mother-in-law,’ she answered. _What does she mean?_ Was she now implying that Andrew’s mother had to do with all of this? Phoebe found that extremely hard to believe. ‘Why, is it forbidden to visit one’s family?’ She was too defensive and she knew it, but she could not help it.

Jenny shook her head. ‘No, but assisting in a terrorist outrage is.’ She placed a photo on the table, showing Phoebe standing alone in a burning street, with a ruined building behind her. Across the street Andrew was standing looking at the scene with a smile. ‘Care to comment?’

But Phoebe could only stare. Terrorist outrage? What on earth was she talking about? She didn’t remember this. Had she been there, she would not have forgotten. This was too serious to forget. ‘I don’t remember this,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what that means, but I wasn’t there.’

She tried to recall that day, but her memories of it were vague and undefined. She had visited Andrew’s mother, had talked with her about a lot of things, although not about Andrew – the one subject they carefully avoided – but there was no memory between her leaving the house and arriving back home. She did recall that her clothes had smelled of smoke and fire though and she had not quite understood why. But since Andrew had come banging at the door that very night, the matter had quite slipped her mind. Until now. Could it be that she had really forgotten? It sounded so unlikely.

‘My clothes smelled of fire,’ she said slowly, wondering if this might lead her questioner to believe that she was insane and would send her to the nearest mental asylum instead of prison. ‘But I don’t remember being there. Maybe the photo is manipulated?’

Jenny looked at the wall behind Phoebe’s head and she seemed to be listening to someone, even though Phoebe could not hear that person. It made her feel even more uncomfortable than she already was. How many people were listening in? How many people were looking at her right now?

‘Where are your husband and his merry men?’ Jenny asked sharply. The change in topic was so sudden that Phoebe needed a few seconds to catch up. ‘And I suggest you consider your answer carefully. My boss has no real use for you other than what you can tell us, so give us what we want to know, and you can walk out of this place within the hour. Fail to comply with our wishes and we’ll charge you with aiding and abetting known terrorists. Let me assure you, you won’t see daylight for a good many years.’

Phoebe’s hands felt sweaty. If these people wanted Andrew’s friends, they could have them, with her compliments. They were not at liberty to have her husband though. ‘I want a deal,’ she said, trying to come across as braver than she felt. This woman might settle for the bulk of the group and leave Andrew out of it. He was not so very important with them anyway. What harm would it be to let him walk free?

Jenny looked like she was chewing on a particular sour lemon. ‘Go on.’ Her voice was cold and forbidding, but she had not stopped Phoebe thus far. That had to be a good sign.

‘I tell you where his friends are, and you let Andrew go,’ she stated. It was a reasonable deal and one that might even be beneficial to her. Andrew would be free of those wizards’ bad influence and they might even begin to rebuild their lives. She had a strong suspicion that her husband had fallen in with these people about six years before and he had changed since then. Andrew was always a man who could hold a grudge, who harboured anger against everything and everyone, but this had been different. He had never been murderous before. That had only started to happen after that Lestrange man had appeared on the stage. And she needed to believe that Andrew could see sense after breaking contact with those people, or else she might go mad. ‘He’s not a bad man,’ she pleaded. ‘He’s just keeping the wrong company, but whatever it is you think he did, it’s not his fault. I know it.’

Jenny placed a laptop in the table, the screen directed at Phoebe.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, feeling rather nervous all of a sudden. Something was wrong with this and she could not trust this spy to have her best interests at heart.

Jenny did not answer the question. She just hit the play button. And that silenced Phoebe as well, as she watched with growing dread how the young man she had come to know as John Lewis, but now introduced himself as Julius Burke delivered an ultimatum to the recipients of the video. And she didn’t know what shocked her more: the fact that he was so badly bruised or the fact that he introduced himself as a wizard. Did that mean that Jenny and her colleagues, who were obviously not magical, were aware of the existence of wizards? Could that really be? It was almost a relief.

The relief rapidly vanished as the video went on. The message John – it was strange to refer to him by another name – delivered was a serious one. Phoebe could not pride herself in knowing much about the world those wizards moved in, but she got the gist of the communique: give us what we want, which will result in chaos and death on the streets, or watch this man die and have chaos and death on your streets anyway. It was a win-win situation for the people who were delivering this message. It made Phoebe wonder how her husband had ever gotten himself mixed up with these people. It did not make any sense.

Because Andrew’s friends were mixed up in this. That man – Dolohov, she thought – moved in front of the camera to address the people himself, looking rather too pleased with himself. Phoebe had always believed him to be a creep of a man and she had stayed away from him as much as possible. Here was the proof that her assessment of him had been spot on.

But he was not the only one of that little group present, as she soon found out. John – Julius – drew the attention towards himself by revealing a traitor somewhere – Jenny knew too little of it to fully understand his words – and it was obvious that not everyone wanted him to speak up the way he did. Another man ran into view, hitting John time and again to silence him. Dolohov was speaking, but Phoebe did not hear a word he said. Her attention was focused on the man hitting John.

This man had his back toward the camera, but Phoebe did not need to see his face to know his identity. She had known Andrew for so long now that she would recognise him anywhere, no matter how he looked. So, even with his back turned to her and dressed in black robes that did not seem to suit him at all, she knew who he was.

Having said that, she could hardly believe the evidence of her own eyes. How could Andrew do that to John? She knew the lad and he may not be the most sociable of people. He was a spy too. Phoebe found that of very little consequence though. It did not matter what he did for a living – and if it was his job to stop Dolohov and his men, then he could count on having her blessing – but he was all but a boy, just out of his teens. How could Andrew do this to someone so young? Had he even been the one to make him look so battered in the first place?

Part of Phoebe had no ambition to find that out at all. That part wanted to hide behind her usual excuses. It had to the bad influence of these men, he may even be forced into this. Who was she to judge him purely on basis of what she saw now? She didn’t know the full story, so she had no right at all to condemn his actions. There might be more the matter than she knew. There had to be more the matter than she just saw. Andrew wouldn’t do this.

 _Yes, he would_. She didn’t know where that mental voice came from, but it was most unwelcome in her head. It tried to impart the realisation upon her that this was something Andrew really did, without as much as a second thought too. He had changed since he had gotten into touch with these people. He had broken almost all contact with his mother and Phoebe knew she was being kept at arm’s length as well. It were those men, those creepy men who made up his company and there was no denying Andrew was affected by them. Maybe it was their bad influence and maybe it was by his own free will that he had distanced himself from her. He would be away at night, for days sometimes even, and he’d never tell her where he had been. It was his little secret and she had no right to impose on his personal life like she did, he had told her.

‘If that is the case, then you can clear out,’ she had said one day, when it all became too much. And he had cleared out, without one single protest as he might have done once upon a time. Phoebe still believed that this was what had hurt her most. Andrew had not wanted to fight for their marriage. He had left.

Of course she had seen him a few times in the years that followed, but those had never been social calls. It was always to hide from the police or to ask for either food or money, sometimes both. Phoebe had always meant to refuse him, but then he looked at her pleadingly, declared his love for her and she was done for.

She was done for now, but not quite in the same way. She had been a fool. How well did she even know her own husband? How much did she know of his life these days? The answer was that she knew nothing at all. The image of Andrew that she had carried in her heart for so long was hopelessly outdated, and certainly no longer correct. If she only saw him about four times a year for an hour at most, how was she to know what kind of person he was for the rest of the time? The harsh and very unwelcome answer to that question was that she had no way of knowing. Was that video not all the proof she needed?

Her hands were trembling and she had to fight hard to keep those treacherous tears from spilling over. Did Andrew even love her? Had he ever loved her? Yes, she knew what he had told her so many times, but she also knew that there could be a world of difference between what people said and what they did. Andrew had hit that boy repeatedly of his own volition. No one had ordered him to. There had been no time to order anything. It looked as if he had jumped on the opportunity as soon as it presented itself and in that half-second that he looked at the camera his face showed triumph rather than remorse.

‘He must be forced,’ Phoebe protested feebly, but it sounded unbelievable to even her own eyes. Why should Jenny, a trained spy with quite possibly years of experience, believe her then when she was not even sure she bought this version of events herself?

And Jenny was indeed far from fooled, but she looked at least sympathetic. ‘He’s not, Phoebe,’ she said quietly. ‘And you know it, don’t you? You know he is not good for you, not for anyone. I do believe you when you say that he used to be different, but he’s not that man anymore.’

 _I know_. A few tears spilled. Tears were a natural reaction to pain and it was only logical that she felt pain now that her heart had been so carelessly trampled on. She didn’t want to let any of this happening, but what choice did she have? The evidence was right there, but more than that, she felt that Jenny was right. And she did not let her want to be right. She had once sworn to protect Andrew to her dying breath, but that was before he betrayed her like this. What loyalties did she have to this man?

And she hated herself for even thinking like this. It was Jenny’s fault, playing good cop, bad cop all by herself. Phoebe knew what the other woman was doing, but she could not help but feel that it worked, even though she knew what was happening. And it did not help matters that Jenny was absolutely right.

The spy took her hand. ‘I know this is hard for you, Phoebe, I really do. It is hard to give up on someone you love, but sometimes you have to, because the things they are doing endanger other people’s lives. It is the right thing.’

And she knew that too. She knew it too well.

‘My colleague will be killed, unless you can tell me where they are holding him.’ There was an edge of urgency to Jenny’s voice now and she squeezed Phoebe’s hand, although she may not even be aware that she did that. ‘Do you have any idea where they might be, Phoebe, any idea at all?’

Yes, she did. She might even be the only one apart from Andrew and his friends who knew where they were hiding. There had been a great deal of magic involved and Phoebe had thoroughly protested the idea, but Andrew kept insisting that it was brilliant. As he said to Lestrange, no one would ever think that they had hidden their greatest secret in a Muggle, whatever a Muggle may be. Phoebe would be the last one they would ever suspect. And as far as she knew, Andrew had been right. No one had suspected that she knew the location. Yes, people asked her where her husband was, but that was nothing new. They didn’t _know_ that she knew, was the only one who knew.

But she did and now it was up to her to decide whether or not it was worth it to give up that information to the people who probably wanted Andrew dead. In short, was this worth going to prison over? When had Andrew ever shown her such loyalty? The only man who had done something nice for her lately was the one who had been tied to a chair in some godforsaken warehouse. Phoebe had seen him, had seen that he had been about to literally jump on Dolohov if he had not backed off when he was demanding to know what she had done with his wand. Andrew had merely looked on and had done absolutely nothing to help her.

And that decided her. A complete stranger had been willing to help her more than her own husband. Did that not truly tell her all she needed to know? ‘I need paper and a pen,’ she said, voice still thick. It was not without difficulty that she did this, but she needed to. Like Jenny had said, this was the right thing to do.

Jenny laid it on the table, face carefully wiped blank again. There was no telling what she thought. There was just nothing to go on.

And it did not really matter anyway. She was going to betray her husband to the security services – she inwardly cringed at the use of the word betrayal, even when only in her own head – and there was no going back on that decision now. She would have to do this and would have to live with that afterwards. Better do it before she changed her mind.

She wrote down the address and pushed the paper back to Jenny before she could change her mind. This needed to be done. She knew that. There was no going back now and she shouldn’t delude herself into thinking there was. ‘You should let the people who are going in there read this,’ she instructed. ‘Each and every one of them, otherwise it won’t work.’ She looked at the woman whom she had believed to be her neighbour. ‘You have to be careful, Jenny. You have no idea what they are capable of.’

Jenny merely scowled. ‘I think that bloody video gave me a very good impression,’ she said dismissively. She pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. ‘Someone will come to see you out shortly.’

Phoebe did not know what she had expected, but this wasn’t it. Of course, Jenny had promised that she would be released if she cooperated, but this seemed rather brusque. She had served her purpose and now she was of no further interest to these people. Jenny did not care about her, had never really cared. It had only ever been pretence. Suddenly she felt more alone than she had felt in years.

‘Jenny!’ she called before the spy had reached the door. It was no more than intuition, but she wanted to know. ‘Who did you have to give up?’

For a moment it looked like Jenny was not going to give an answer. ‘My father,’ she replied eventually. The door slammed shut behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phoebe is ridiculously difficult to write, let me tell you. Having said that, I hope I wrote her well. I’m feeling slightly sorry for her now.   
> Next time: Amy visits the Ministry of Magic.   
> Please review? Your opinion means a lot to me. What did you like, what did you dislike?


	23. Amy Hamilton III

It was late by the time Amy arrived at the Ministry of Magic. Most of the employees would have gone home by now. The Auror Department would be in full flow still though, especially after that press leak that had her temporary boss so mad. Amy would not deny that his anger frightened her somewhat, but not as much as Julius’s disappearance did.

Amy had never liked him. He’d been a bully in school, always getting on her every nerve, never passing up an opportunity to annoy her. Things had not changed when she found out he was in the Auror Department as well. Unlike Robert, she had never asked him what he meant to achieve by that when he so obviously shared the view of the majority of people they tried to get behind bars.

But apparently she was wrong about that. Julius was definitely not siding with the Death Eaters, not after what had happened in that warehouse. They had all been wrong about him and for that Amy felt ashamed. He may not be the most mannered guy to walk the earth, but he did not deserve this either. And he _had_ risked his life by warning them about Dawlish. They owed him.

And at least Harry Pearce seemed to agree, for which Amy was grateful. In fact, the Muggle spy seemed awfully insistent that they get Julius back. He cared, she decided, even if she didn’t know why. It just was and she was glad of it.

But there was a lot that needed to be fixed and very little time to do it. Ruth had phoned a little while ago to tell her that Phoebe Simmons could not remember that she had been at the Manchester debacle. That had magical involvement written all over it and both of them knew it. A memory charm. The Ministry had been casting those left, right and centre after the debacle and it was most likely that they had consequently obliviated one of the most valuable witnesses they had. She could not even blame her boss for his rant – heard as background music to her conversation with Ruth – about wizarding stupidity. Right now, he was completely right.

According to Ruth, they also had the location for the warehouse now, because Phoebe Simmons had unexpectedly turned out to be the Secret Keeper. They were launching a rescue mission in a few hours’ time and they were requesting help from the Aurors. Amy was to ask for it and then Ruth would send Ros to discuss the details with them. It made sense of course. Ros was a field officer and Amy would be on the Grid with Malcolm and Ruth to coordinate, so it was only logical that one of the field officers would come and discuss things, but Amy felt a bit sorry for the people who would have to deal with Rosalind Myers. Amy had taken special care to stay away from the woman thus far and with good reason too.

It was past midnight already when she took the visitor’s entrance into the Ministry. Mr Potter still had her wand, so Apparating was still out of the question and there was no Floo connection between Thames House and the Auror Department, so she would have to take the Muggle way. Amy didn’t mind though. It didn’t rain and the walk cleared her head.

The Atrium was silent and abandoned, except for the lone guard behind the security desk. He was reading the _Daily Prophet_ , although it looked more like he was about to fall asleep on it. She almost felt sorry for him.

Apparently he was not so sleepy that he had not heard her approach though and he looked up. ‘Miss Hamilton! You’re up late.’

Amy gave him a wry look. ‘So are you,’ she remarked. ‘You’re on nightshift, Lorcan?’

The wizard nodded. ‘You too, apparently. All your lot are still up, coming and going as you please and none of them will tell me what is going on.’ He sounded a bit frustrated and Amy supposed that it would have annoyed her as well had she been the one to be kept away from everything interesting. To be reduced to a spectator – one who wasn’t even in the possession of all the facts – that did not sound like a tempting prospect at all. ‘Don’t suppose there’s any chance you could tell me…?’

She favoured him with an apologetic look. ‘Sorry. You know I can’t talk about it.’ She saw him look meaningfully at the newspaper in front of him, which was open at the article about the cooperation with MI-5. ‘Not even when it’s all over the news,’ she added. She had known that Rita Skeeter was a menace, but she had never thought it would come to this. Come to think of it though, this was what that awful woman did for a living. Well, thanks to Mrs Weasley, she didn’t do it anymore.

Lorcan’s face lit up. ‘So, it is true?’

‘Can’t tell,’ Amy repeated, which was as good as a confirmation anyway and they both knew it. By the look of things, she had just made his day. ‘I was wondering though if you could tell me Auror Dawlish is in?’ That was her main goal after all, to get rid of that traitor. Julius had risked his life to tell them, so they’d better catch Dawlish to make sure that he had not risked his life in vain.

Still, it sounded ridiculous. Dawlish was devoted to the job. He was up with the larks, always the first in the office, and left long after the others. At least that was what Amy thought. There was a rumour among the younger Aurors that he actually had a bed in some broom cupboard and that he slept there. Amy was about ready to believe it. The man believed he had no higher duty than to serve the Ministry and currently it was no Ministry policy to help Death Eaters create chaos on the streets of Britain. But then, his involvement with their renegade suspects needn’t necessarily be voluntary. It was well-known that Dawlish was vulnerable to the Imperius Curse.

‘Came in an hour ago,’ Lorcan confirmed. ‘Why? Do you need him?’

In a manner of speaking. ‘Just need to ask him a few questions, is all,’ she said, playing it down. Lorcan may be security, but he didn’t need to know any more than he strictly had to. ‘Listen, can you do something for me?’

Lorcan nodded. ‘Sure. Name it.’

‘Well, I might miss him, what with all the other things I need to do, so if he leaves, could you stop him, tell him to wait? It really is important.’ She looked at the security officer pleadingly. Lorcan had always had a soft spot for her in school, she knew, and she also knew that she was using that to achieve her own ends now, but lives could be saved if she did.

Her old friend seemed a bit puzzled. ‘You could send him a Patronus,’ he suggested. ‘Tell him to wait. You _do_ know how to cast one?’

‘I was in Ravenclaw too, remember, same as you,’ she pointed out, leaving out the part that said that without a wand, she could not cast any spell at all at the present time. ‘Lorcan, can you please just do it? It really is important.’

Lorcan had ended up in Ravenclaw for a reason, even if his entire family had been in Slytherin. He would be a fool if he did not realise that she was holding out on him. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

‘Of course,’ Amy said. ‘You see, it’s Auror business, you know I can’t talk about that, even if I wanted and if I did, I might get you into trouble and I wouldn’t want that, so…’ She trailed off when she realised she was starting to ramble, an annoying habit of hers that always reared its ugly head when she was nervous. She started again. ‘It is important that you stop him from leaving, is all,’ she repeated.

‘Amy?’ Lorcan mostly seemed thoroughly confused.

‘Oh, what does it matter anyway?’ she exclaimed in exasperation. ‘He’s working with the Death Eaters and we really, really need to stop him before he causes any more damage. We discovered that with MI-5 and I need to tell Mr Potter, but we can’t risk Dawlish doing a runner, so can you please, please stop him when he tries to do so?’ This was probably breaking several rules, the Official Secrets Act among them, but it was necessary, Amy reasoned. She might never be a field officer, but she knew a bit about working in the field all the same. She might as well treat Lorcan as an asset.

Lorcan’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he heard that. Amy all but expected him express his disbelief at hearing that Dawlish was a traitor. Of course he had to look at it in the other way. ‘The Muggles found that out?’

 _No, Julius found that out while he was kept prisoner by them_. ‘Yes, Lorcan, the Muggles found that out. And you can stop sounding so surprised every time. They’re not as stupid as you would have thought. They just don’t have the magic we do.’ She remembered something then. ‘That reminds me, one of my Muggle colleagues will be coming over to discuss some Auror business soon. Can you point her in the right direction?’

Lorcan looked less than pleased at the prospect. ‘Miss Evershed again?’ he checked.

Amy conjured up an apologetic smile. ‘Afraid not,’ she said. ‘Her name’s Ros Myers. One piece of advice: you don’t want to annoy her. She’s got something of a temper.’ Lorcan looked even more unhappy, for which the young witch could not truly blame him. No one wanted to get on Ros’s bad side. She wasn’t even sure the Senior Case Officer had a good side to begin with. ‘So, you’ll stop Dawlish if you can?’

That seemed to make him temporarily forget about the Muggles. ‘Will do,’ he promised. ‘How do you want me to stop him? Just be polite and tell him you need to speak to him before he leaves again?’

Amy shrugged. ‘I don’t really care. Polite would be nice if it worked, but I’m okay with you taking his wand and tying him to the desk as well if that is what is needed. Just make sure that he is not getting anywhere.’

The last thing they needed was to let the Death Eaters know that they were finally on to them and Dawlish was bound to tell them every last bit of information he knew. They were probably lucky that he was still here after Julius’s message. The Death Eaters could not possibly hope that they would not realise what Julius had been saying and so they must be aware that at least Section D was onto them. Maybe it was because they were constantly underestimating Muggles that they thought it was well worth the risk of sending Dawlish back in. Besides, if the Auror was under the Imperius Curse, as Amy suspected, then what did the Death Eaters care if he was caught. He was only a pawn.

‘I get it,’ Lorcan nodded. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t get past me.’

‘It beats me why you didn’t join the Aurors,’ she remarked wryly. ‘You’ve got the ego for it.’

‘Didn’t pass the vetting.’ Lorcan sounded a bit bitter now, and more subdued than before. ‘They reckoned there was a bit of a risk with my family, you know.’

Amy suddenly felt a bit stupid for asking. It had always struck her as odd that such a clever man as Lorcan Rowle had ended up with such a mundane job as this one, but what if that was not by his own choice? His uncle had been a Death Eater during the last war and those were not looked well upon in society today and their families were often guilty by association. Julius had done the impossible by becoming an Auror while he held views that were frowned upon, but that was only because his family had not truly gotten involved with the Death Eaters. Lorcan did not have that advantage. She doubted he would ever get a really good career, no matter how clever he was and no matter how many Outstandings he had gotten in his NEWTs. The world was very unfair, she decided.

‘Oh, Merlin’s beard, I’m sorry, Lorcan!’ She felt herself colour a bright crimson in embarrassment for not realising her mistake sooner. Maybe it was because Lorcan had always been kind to her that she had never been able to see him as family of a Death Eater, but it was a stupid mistake all the same and she wanted the ground to swallow her so that she would not have to deal with this. ‘I… I… ehm… I should go,’ she said eventually, well aware of exactly how lame that sounded. ‘Thanks, Lorcan, your help means a lot. I mean it.’

She had already turned to leave when she heard the sound of a lift arriving in the Atrium. Normally it was impossible to hear such a sound over the hustle and bustle in the Atrium during daytime, but Lorcan and she were the only ones present – which made sense, since it was well after midnight already – and so it was audible. Amy looked around to see Dawlish come out of the lift, clearly intending to leave.

 _Not yet you don’t_. She had come here on a mission and she was not leaving until it was completed. She may not be that much of a dueller – Robert beat her in that department every time – and she may be destined to do her job mostly from behind a desk, but that did not mean that she was going to let Dawlish get away.

‘You send a Patronus to Mr Potter,’ she muttered at Lorcan under her breath. ‘I’ll keep him talking for as long as I can.’ According to Julius that was one of the things she was best at anyway.

‘I have your back, Miss Hamilton.’ Some might think it annoying to be addressed by their surname most of the time, but Lorcan always used it as an endearment. Little Miss Hamilton, he used to call her in school, because it took so long for her grow spurt to finally kick in; she had been the smallest of her class for years. He was like a big brother she’d never really had.

‘I count on it,’ she muttered back before she turned to face the traitor. ‘Auror Dawlish!’ she called out. ‘How lucky I should run into you here. I was just coming to look for you.’ Something told her she was overdoing the friendly tone of voice. If she was sounding too jovial, she might just spook him and that was not what she wanted.

Auror Dawlish looked surprised to learn it. ‘Were you? What for?’ His eyes were darting towards the fireplaces, strengthening the idea that he was planning to get out of here as soon as he could.

‘We have a few leads on where the Death Eaters could be hiding out,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing definite yet, so I didn’t want to bother Mr Potter with it. Perhaps you could lend me a hand in reviewing the options?’

‘I am rather busy myself, Miss Hamilton. Why don’t you take your research to Auror Weasley?’ The glance he shot at the exit could have been picked up by a blind man. And it was uncharacteristic for him. Uncharacteristic was bad, Amy knew, one of the signs that the person she was talking to was no longer in control of his own mind. And if that was the case, there was no telling what they would or would not do.

‘I’d rather have your input if it is all the same to you,’ she insisted. ‘Besides, Auror Weasley has to look into something on behalf of MI-5. I heard Mr Pearce ask it of him myself. Really, it’s not too much. We just need to know if we can still trace a house the Muggle way if it has been protected with the Fidelius Charm. You see, we narrowed the number of houses down a bit, so there’s only three or four places they might be hiding out, if the house has indeed been purchased the Muggle way, which we think it has been, since Andrew Simmons has never actually lived in the wizarding society.’ She was rambling, but rambling was good in this case. It stopped the other from getting a word in. ‘You see, he’s rented some place in Cornwall, but I told Mr Pearce that we already did a raid there and there was no one there then, so he would not risk it to go back there again. Henry Downs has a house in Oxford, but we think Andrew Simmons was the one to pay for it. He seems to have made a lot of money between 1999 and 2003, but we are quite unable to pinpoint where exactly that money came from. There might be a link with the Death Eaters there. The Lestrange family always had quite a lot of money, didn’t they? Well, and then there’s…’

‘Miss Hamilton, I believe I already told you that I do not have the time to discuss this with you today,’ Dawlish said forcefully. ‘Kindly take your chatter elsewhere. Good night.’ He pushed her aside and walked away.

And he couldn’t leave. Mr Potter was not here yet. Amy didn’t know what kept him, but it was of course quite a long way from the Auror Department to the Atrium. He may need some time still. ‘Auror Dawlish, please? Three minutes is all I ask!’

The wizard did not even turn or bother with an answer.

‘ _Expelliarmus_!’ Lorcan shouted. ‘ _Pertrificus totalus_!’

Dawlish’s wand flew out of his hand and he was frozen in place. Amy was glad of it, since she still did not have her wand back, a source of frustration for her. Well, thank goodness for Lorcan and his quick thinking. She had meant what she had said earlier: he would make for a good Auror if this society would give him the opportunity. It was not as if he had wanted his father’s brother to become a Death Eater or something like that.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Not a problem.’

‘What in the name of Merlin’s beard is going on here?’ This shocked voice came from the lifts and when Amy turned around to see Auror Weasley and Mr Potter emerging from them. The former looked mildly shocked and confused, while the latter looked only puzzled. Amy reckoned that when one defeated the most evil wizard of the past few centuries, one would be rather difficult to shock.

‘Sir,’ she began, not quite sure how to continue. She the remembered that she had the video with her and she got the laptop out of her bag, violently praying that it would actually work in this place where it was so full of magic. But there was relatively little magic performed in the Atrium itself, so they might yet be lucky. ‘Ehm, I’m sure that if you take a look at this that it will become clear.’

Auror Weasley eyed the device with barely concealed distrust, which was no big surprise, since he had not seemed too pleased with the Grid either. Harry Potter took it better, but then, he had grown up with Muggles. He was more used to their world. She imagined Lorcan’s reaction would be closely resembling Auror Weasley’s, but she could not be sure, since she had her back turned to him and he was keeping a very close eye on Dawlish. As he should. They could not have him running now.

‘Miss Hamilton, would you care to explain what is the point of this? Why is Mr Rowle tying up Auror Dawlish?’ Mr Potter was a good boss, but he seemed to be missing the point now.

‘Because Section D believes him to be working for the Death Eaters,’ Amy replied, trying to sound as calm as she could. ‘We believe this because of a video they played on the net an hour ago. We also have a very strong lead on where they’re holding Julius.’ And she was proud of that. No one had believed that MI-5 could really do something and Amy felt proud that they had done something. Ever since she had joined the wizarding world she had been fighting against prejudice, to absolutely no avail, but here was the proof that Muggles were not in any way stupid. She had believed herself to be a Muggle herself until she was eleven and she was not ashamed of her heritage, no matter what people tried to make her believe about herself.

And her feeling of triumph only grew when the Muggle equipment turned out to be working, but the feeling was short-lived when she saw the video again. Shame on her for being so caught up in her own world that she had almost forgotten about Julius’s plight. He was still in danger, and here she was feeling pleased with herself.

‘Merlin’s beard!’ Lorcan whispered when he saw it. He knew Julius, even if they weren’t close friends, if they were friends at all. ‘That is barbaric.’

That about summed it up to perfection. ‘We know where he is being held,’ Amy said when the video had finished, not allowing her mind to dwell on what she had just seen. It really was too horrible. ‘And Mr Pearce kindly requests that he has the full resources of the Ministry behind him when we go in.’ Harry had more demanded than requested it, and to judge that demand as being made kindly was taking things a bit far really, but sometimes it was better to change one’s words a bit.

Harry Potter nodded. ‘He has it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Ros pays the Ministry a visit. Don’t worry, the rescue mission will commence in chapter 25. It is coming. Have a little patience please.  
> Please review?


	24. Ros Myers IV

Anyone who knew Ros Myers knew that she didn’t like nonsense and while this operation certainly did not qualify as nonsense in her book, the fact that she had to go to this Ministry of Magic did. What she had seen of wizards so far had not done much to lead her to believe that they were not born and bred idiots all of them, with the younger generation looking a bit more hopeful. Maybe the younger generation had not been spending too much time in that Ministry of theirs yet.

Because Julius had done a good job, even while he was being kept prisoner by the very people they were hunting. Not many people, magical or otherwise, would have done the same, and Ros felt that she owed him for that. But really, the sooner this was all over, the happier she would be. Give her Al-Qaeda and home-grown loonies with bombs – dirty or otherwise – any day. That was the kind of terrorist she knew exactly what to do with. These wizards could kill with their sticks in the blink of an eye and they clearly did not think much of the non-magical people. The feeling was mutual; Ros did not think much of them either.

And now it was mixed up with something she stubbornly refused to refer to as worry. Ros Myers did not do worrying, especially not about wizards. She could not let the personal intrude upon the professional. It was one of her rules and they had kept her from losing her mind in the aftermath of her father’s failed coup and his imprisonment. She remembered saying to Phoebe that sometimes they had to give up on someone they cared for, even if Ros would never go as far as saying that she actually cared for the wizard. She may feel responsible for him though, which was something else altogether.

Anyway, the decision had not been hers to make, that was Harry’s prerogative. And he had been the one to decide that they would take the Death Eaters out now that they had the chance. It meant rescuing Julius in the process, but their main objective was to prevent an act of terrorism on British soil. Julius was just an added bonus. The Death Eaters had warned them that they would make Manchester look like nothing in comparison to what they were planning to do in retaliation when the Ministry of Magic inevitably refused to comply with their demands – the first sensible thing they had done since Ros had been made aware of their existence – and it was Section D’s duty to stop that. In that respect it did not matter if they were dealing with wizards or non-magical terrorists. Preventing a terrorist outrage was a part of the job description.

The entrance to the Ministry of Magic looked rather shabby. Ruth had informed her that it was an old telephone box and at first Ros had believe the intelligence analyst to be playing some kind of rather tasteless prank on her, but apparently it was true. At least she was treated with a welcome message when she dialled the number she had been given.

‘Rosalind Myers, Senior Case Officer in Section D, MI-5,’ she replied curtly when she was asked to state her name and business. Ruth had been explaining – even if Ros was convinced lecturing would have been a more apt description – her about how the visitor’s entrance worked. But she had a mission to get on with and wasting her time with nonsense like this when there were Death Eaters to be caught was bordering on criminal.

‘And your business, please,’ the disembodied voice asked.

‘None of your bloody business,’ Ros snapped. It was strange enough that she had a discussion with a machine – if that was what this was – in the first place, but she was working for the secret service, which meant that her business was secret too. And heaven knew what kind of unauthorised personnel was in control of this. They were unlikely to be meant to hear what she was up to.

The piece of magical machinery was unmoved. ‘Your business.’

‘Commanding your Aurors to bloody well hurry up,’ Ros answered. She would have glared at the thing, had she known what to glare at exactly.

‘Thank you,’ the telephone box said. ‘Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.’

 _What robes?_ Ros thought. She was growing more impatient with this box with every second that passed, but a refusal to attach that badge to her jacket would possibly result in even more delay. And that was something she’d had more than enough of already. Time was ticking and as far as Ros was aware, terrorists weren’t as considerate as to politely wait until their opponents were ready before they caused death and disaster on the streets. Her day brightened a bit when she saw what was on the badge though: _Rosalind Myers, MI-5, Auror Commander._

The voice spoke again. ‘Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.’

The voice began to extremely annoy Ros. She was in a hurry and this box had yet to move. ‘Could you bloody well get on with it?’ she demanded.

The box obviously did not think this worthy of an answer, but at least it finally descended, which was an answer in and out of itself, Ros supposed. And she was really in a hurry. Harry was driving over to the Death Eaters’ hide-out right now, along with the field officers. He would have liked to call in some of the cavalry, but the Statute of Secrecy prevented him from doing that. And that was where the wizards came in. But the wizards would not be able to get to where they needed to go if they weren’t told the address in person. It had something to do with that spell that had been cast on the place, or something like that.

‘The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,’ the box said as it finally let her exit the sodding thing into the Atrium. At any other day Ros might have been impressed at any other time by the grandeur of the hall, but today she had more important business on her mind. And she had definitely no intention to submit to a search whatsoever. The only reason why she would seek out that security desk was to ask for directions to the Auror Department.

The wizard standing behind him, who seemed to be around the same age as Julius, waved her over when he caught sight of her. ‘Miss Myers, right?’ Either he had heard her name from Amy or he had stronger sight than she had expected. She suspected the former. Wizards may have some advantages, but not that many.

‘You are?’ she demanded.

‘Lorcan Rowle, miss. Would you please step over here for a minute?’ He was sounding friendly enough, but Ros could not escape the notion that it took him a lot of effort to do so. He was eyeing her warily and seemed to rather kick her out than that he admitted her entrance to the Ministry. _No such luck today, boy_.

But she had no time for such nonsense. ‘Where’s the Auror Department?’ she questioned curtly, not moving an inch from her spot.

‘I will take you there in a minute, miss,’ the wizard said. He was polite, a bit too polite actually, but also unwavering. Normally this kind of behaviour sent every junior officer in a ten meter radius running for the hills without hesitation. ‘If you would step over now please?’

But two could play that game. ‘The Auror Department?’

The young man looked back defiantly. ‘Miss Myers, would you please do as I ask? This is Ministry policy.’

‘Mr Rowle, I do not have the time for your sodding Ministry policy,’ Ros snapped. Too much coffee, too little sleep and too much tension did in general not make for a good combination and Ros was never the most sociable woman around. Tonight her patience with all this wizarding nonsense was non-existent. And nerves about the results, lethal or otherwise, of the raid they were about to launch had nothing with it, she told herself. ‘A colleague of mine has been taken prisoner by Death Eaters and each minute you delay me, lessens the chance that he is still alive by the time we get to him. And if that is the case, I will personally make sure that you will answer for your part in his death in court. Do you understand?’

This tactic had worked well enough on that idiot in the magical pub and it worked on Lorcan Rowle as well. He paled and started stuttering his excuses. ‘I didn’t mean to…’

‘I should bloody well hope not,’ Ros snapped. ‘Now, could you point me in the right direction?’

It was getting later all the while and they were still here, doing absolutely nothing. If they did not put an end to this nonsense before dawn, they might find themselves with disaster on their hands before sundown. The Death Eaters did not seem the types to wait to retaliate and the Senior Case Officer feared that Harry Potter and Kingsley Shacklebolt might give into the demands made of them if that happened. She had only met the former, but he had given the impression of wanting to rescue every single officer he had under his command. He seemed too soft to be in command of Aurors. His job required that he sometimes needed to make tough decisions. She had overheard Jo saying that could be its own form of strength, but Ros disagreed. Sentiment should have no place in this job and last time she checked, they did not give in to terrorists.

Mr Rowle took up his wand and closed his eyes in concentration. ‘ _Expecto Patronum_!’ he commanded. A bit of silver smoke emerged from the tip of the stick, but otherwise nothing happened. It took him four more tries before he got the result he was apparently hoping for. This time a silver hawk appeared and flew off towards the lifts, where it disappeared from sight.

‘They will be here soon,’ Mr Rowle informed her. He was too polite again, keeping her at a safe distance. Come to think of it, he treated her as if she had a contagious disease. She had seen some of the wizards’ dislike for Muggles when she had accompanied Julius to the wandmaker in Diagon Alley, but had not been able to bring herself to care. She still didn’t. These people meant nothing to her. They had a certain usefulness to the operation, but that was about as far as it went. Once this was over and done with, she’d have the wizard from the Grid and out of her life. Of course that decision was not exactly up to her, but she got the impression that Harry was none too anxious to hang onto them either. He treated them with a weariness that usually was reserved for politicians. Ros may not be exactly on friendly terms with her boss, but about that they were in absolute agreement. That had to be a first.

And right, she did worry about Julius. The boy may be unsociable and wholly unsuitable for the profession he had chosen, but he had shown some bravery when he warned them about the traitor. Reluctantly she had to admit that he may even have saved the operation. Without him they would not have known about the fact that there even was a magically hidden hide-out and the Death Eaters would either have hidden there until kingdom came or have bolted to God only knows where when they realised MI-5 was on to them. For a wizard Julius was half-decent, something she wished could be said for his male colleague as well, but Robert unfortunately remained more mouth and brawl than brain.

The lifts opened to let out a group of people in robes. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were amongst them and Ros spotted Amy trailing behind them like a puppy, the way her mentor tended to do behind Harry. They could have been family when it came to the manner of their conduct towards their respective bosses.

‘Miss Myers,’ Harry Potter acknowledged when he had come close enough to make himself heard without resorting to shouting. ‘You were quicker than I expected.’

 _What the bloody hell_ did _you expect? That I would make a slight detour to get fish and chips on the way while we have a bloody category one terrorist threat on our hands?_ She refrained from commenting, instead opting on handing the head of the Auror Department the note with the address. ‘Read,’ she commanded. She may be forced to work with these people, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. And no one had said anything about the need to be polite, which was just as well. Besides, if Harry had been concerned with manners, he’d have sent Ruth.

To his credit the wizard did as he was told, before passing on the note to his companions, so that they in turn could read it as well. ‘We have captured Dawlish,’ he reported to Ros. ‘He will no longer hinder the operation.’

She gave a curt nod in response. ‘Good.’

‘Are your people in position?’ he asked.

To this she gave another nod. ‘They are. I see yours aren’t.’

Harry Potter looked a bit apologetic. ‘I’m afraid Dawlish refused to come quietly. He gave us a bit of trouble on the way. Miss Hamilton has briefed us on the current situation however. You have our full support on this.’

He was being professional, which required that she would have to be the same. ‘Good,’ she repeated. ‘How will your people get there?’

‘Are you familiar with the concept of Apparating?’ the wizard asked.

Ros never thought the day would arrive when she would be grateful for Ruth’s novel-length notes on the magical society, but she was today. It would at least stop her from looking like a complete fool. ‘I am. What of it? I am no wand-waving weir… wizard. I can’t bloody well transport myself over long distances, or any distance for that matter.’

‘Side-along Apparition,’ Mr Potter explained. ‘You’ll have to hold on to my arm when we Apparate and I can take you with me.’

Ros did not quite like the sound of that, but she was forced to admit that at least it would be faster than getting out of this place and driving down to the warehouse. The operation had to come first. And they’d had more than enough delay. Time was still ticking and she was not in any danger of forgetting that anytime soon. It was in her job description to protect British lives and it was an unwritten rule that spooks looked after their own. Both rules were in danger of being violated if they didn’t get a bloody move on soon. ‘Then do it.’ She turned to Amy, who had ended up in a conversation with the wizard who manned the security desk. ‘Miss Hamilton, I suggest you reserve your chatter for a later date and return to Thames House before the operation begins. Apparate or whatever the hell it is that your people do to get places in no time, I don’t care. Just get there.’ The witch should have been on her way already instead of hanging around here.

She at least looked apologetic. ‘I don’t have my wand,’ she pointed out. ‘Orders.’

Ros turned back to Mr Potter, who did a step back. ‘Give her back her stick,’ she demanded.

‘It was the point of the operation to…’ Auror Weasley cut in.

‘I know what the bloody point was,’ she interrupted. And good grief, she really had no patience for this. ‘Miss Hamilton is needed on the Grid right now, sir.’ The respectful sir was added just half a second too late, which would hopefully make it clear to him what she thought of him. She never had thought very highly of these wand-wavers, but taking their recruits’ wands had be in the top ten of most stupid things they had done to date. The wands were their best weapon of defence, the best chance they had of making sure they would stand an actual chance against those Death Eaters. Reason told her that Julius had two wands on him when he had been taken and it had been no use to him, but at least with those magical sticks they were not completely helpless. ‘So you better bloody well go and fetch hers now. In the meantime Mr Potter and I will go on ahead to review the situation at the warehouse.’

Mr Potter seemed surprised to learn of it. Ros could do nice and would do it when required by an operation. Honeytraps were not a problem; she could be sweet and kind if she put her mind to it. But Adam had recently remarked that she did this better. ‘Should I be afraid for my job?’ he’d ask her when she started bossing Ruth and Zaf around on an op two weeks ago.

‘I don’t know,’ she’d answered, as nonchalantly as she could. ‘Fair warning, I wouldn’t trust any coffee I’ve made. Never know what’s in it.’

The whole thing had ended in a bout of laughter on Adam’s part, who took it as the joke it was. Ros’s sly ‘I don’t know what there’s to laugh about’ had wiped the grin off his face fast enough.

If only she could take over control of this bunch of idiots. She had no doubt that Mr Potter was brilliant in his field – he would have ended up in his current post for a bloody good reason, especially at such a young age and with much older and more experienced people on his team – but when his terrorists started to do things the non-magical way, it was obvious that he was completely lost, had no idea what to do. When it came to a showdown with the actual Death Eaters, he should know what he was doing, whereas she had no knowledge of magical fights whatsoever. Of course she would never be heard to admit that out loud; she did have some pride.

Harry Potter did seem a bit vexed now. ‘Can you take my arm then, Miss Myers?’

 _Don’t be a baby, Myers, and do it_. Magic was all good and well, from a safe distance. Incidents like the Manchester debacle only served to strengthen that idea. But it was in the MCP – Myers Conduct Protocol – to never show weakness and fear – if that was what it even was – was a weakness. And so she took the proffered arm.

‘Take a deep breath,’ the Auror advised her. ‘It may be something of a nauseating experience.’

The next second Ros felt like being sucked in a too narrow space where she literally didn’t even have room enough to breathe, leaving her feeling like she was suffocating. And it seemed to last endlessly. But at last the idea of being suffocated ended and she found herself standing on some pavement in a badly lit neighbourhood, gasping for air.

‘I’ll take the car next time,’ she informed the wizard before she made her way to the control van she spotted across the street.

‘Are you saying that there will be a next time?’ he called to her back.

Ros didn’t even bother to turn around when she replied. ‘Like hell there won’t be.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Ros in a bad mood shouldn’t be this much fun, really. Anyway, next week there’ll be a long chapter about the rescue mission.  
> Please review?


	25. Robert West IV

It was not exactly cold outside, but Robert found he had trouble stopping himself from shivering every two seconds. He was nervous, he decided, although he would never admit to that out loud. He had an image to uphold after all. Quite frankly, he just wanted to get it over with. If only this was done or if only they could just begin. Robert was fairly certain he would be just fine if he could just do something except for staring at the warehouse he could now see, since he had been given its location by the most unlikely Secret Keeper imaginable. The plan would have been a stroke of pure genius though, had Phoebe Simmons not given up the secret all by herself. They had never even suspected her of being the one the Death Eaters would trust with information like that, which might have been the reason why they had entrusted it to her in the first place.

Robert had hoped that he would at least be able to get something out of Simmons’s mother, but he had been rather disappointed in that. The old woman knew nothing about what her son was up to, except for what she had read in the paper, but even if she did, Robert doubted she would have cooperated. The old lady was fiercely protective of her son and while she did admit that her boy had made quite a few wrong choices – which was the understatement of the century, Robert observed wryly – she did not seem to think they were that bad. She did not know the full extent of Andrew’s criminal activities and the Official Secrets Act forbade him from filling her in about the particulars. And as long as she didn’t know, had not seen the same pictures Robert had seen, had not walked the scene after the full-out battle in Manchester, then how could she see the reality?

Her words had been less than useful for the operation itself, but she had managed to fill in some of the blanks about Andrew’s motivations and his remarkable absence in the Ministry’s records, which had driven Amy mad from the moment she realised that they should have been there.

It turned out that Andrew Simmons had never received any formal magical education. Since he was born half-blood, like Robert himself, and Voldemort was on the first rise to power during his youth, Lysandra Simmons decided that the current magical climate was too dangerous for her son. Instead she insisted that he lived like a Muggle to keep him from becoming a target, as she strongly believed he would be because of his Muggle heritage. During Andrew’s childhood she kept in touch with some of her old friends, which was how Andrew knew Dolohov and Lestrange, but during his teenage years, the family had withdrawn from all magical society in order to protect themselves. Consequently Andrew Simmons had grown up in the Muggle world. About six years ago he had told his mother that the wizarding world was safe enough again, so he wanted to try that out. MI-5 supposed that was when he got in touch with his childhood friends again and one thing came from the other.

There was no evidence for all of it, and much was speculation, but it would account for Simmons dropping off the Muggle radar for a couple of years and if the Death Eaters in turn had laid low in Muggle society for a while, that would explain a few things as well. Harry Pearce was not pleased, but Robert supposed that a lot of tension was the direct result of being worried for Julius’s fate. Dawn wasn’t all that far off anymore and for one reason or another, the Auror Department was delayed.

Robert loved to become an Auror one day, but he would be the first to admit that compared to MI-5, the Ministry of Magic was as effective as a hibernating bear. He was not quite sure why that was, but he had the distinct and rather unpleasant feeling that Harry Potter had been right that most of its employees trusted too much in their magic and therefore they overlooked everything else. And Robert did not like what this said about him.

He banished it from his mind. All that mattered now was that his magical colleagues arrived and that they got Julius out of there. Then they would round up the remaining Death Eaters and get the whole sorry lot to Azkaban before they could escape and that would be the end of it. Burke would be safe, the Death Eaters in prison and the operation would be finished. It was only a matter of hours now before he would get his wand back and he could get back to the magical world, pretending none of this had ever happened. Something told him things might not be that easy though.

‘Ready?’ Harry Pearce’s voice interrupted with his ponderings.

Robert looked up only to find that most of the Aurors had arrived and had gathered around the control van. Mr Pearce had obviously made himself the one in charge, bypassing Mr Potter, who did not seem to truly care, as long as someone was doing something.

‘There are three entrances, Harry,’ Adam reported. ‘And a window at the back that may be used to escape.’

Robert thought it wiser not to point out that wizards could Apparate away whenever they chose to do so. Fortunately one of his colleagues in the Auror Department had thought of it and he voiced the thought of casting an anti-Apparition spell over the building, because the last thing they wanted was for their suspects to do a runner, never to be found again except for in the middle of whatever carnage they had just created to express their hate of the Ministry and its policy. And if they got away now, they would take all chance of Burke still being alive with them and that was something, Robert had discovered, he could not stand for, not after Julius had risked his life to warn them, not when he may have contributed more than anyone else to this operation, even if it had taken Robert too long to see it.

Ros was checking her gun before they went in. ‘You, with me,’ she snapped at Robert.

He frowned. ‘Why?’ He thought he would be going in with Zaf, with whom he had worked since this operation had begun. Ros had been the one to work with Julius, not him, and Robert was glad of it. Ros Myers was a very difficult person to have as a partner in the field; not even her own colleagues seemed to like her very much, if they liked her at all.

‘We’re going to get Julius while the rest go and get our magical friends,’ the Senior Case Officer announced.

Robert was not sure what he was supposed to make of this. On one hand he wanted to get in and fight the Death Eaters, as he had been trained to do, but he remembered that he didn’t have his wand with him and he had never been good in duelling Muggle style. It would make sense for him to stick with the Muggles who did know. Still, he had expected to stick with the other Muggle. Zaf was not very fond of him, but things were going better and everything was better than to be stuck with Ros Myers the Unsociable.

Zaf was apparently wondering about the same thing. ‘You’re going after Julius?’ Incredulity was obvious in his voice.

Ros favoured him with a freezing glare. ‘He’s a colleague,’ she replied, as if that explained it all. ‘Even if he’s a bloody stupid idiot. I’d do the same for you.’

Robert found that hard to believe, but actions spoke louder than words and it was obvious that Ros was planning to do exactly what she said. And he could not deny that he wanted to get Julius out, if only to make amends for being so unkind to him when Julius had really only ever been trying to do his job. And he had been spreading gossip and accusations that he could never prove, yet people believed him. Robert did not like what this said about him, and he liked it even less that he had wondered about this far too much in the past twenty-four hours.

In a way his whole world had been turned upside down in the span of one single day, every opinion been proven wrong. He liked certainties, but there were almost none now. He only knew that he would not come out of this the same wizard as he had been when he first stepped foot in Thames House.

He was waiting impatiently when the Aurors went in, part of him still longing that he could be there with them to fight. But he couldn’t and therefore he waited for their sign, fumbling with his jacket, invisibly doctored by Malcolm so that he could now talk to the team in Thames House and they would hear him. The accompanying ear piece made sure he could hear them talking back. Malcolm had tried to explain it to him, but technique was a Muggle form of magic that was far beyond Robert. He had lost track of what the technician was saying before he had even finished his first sentence. Maybe he should just adopt the spies’ way when it came to magic and accept things as they were. If he was trying to understand, he was bound to fail.

It didn’t take long for the sounds of a fight to reach their ears. Curses and counter-curses were yelled and he could see flashes of light. Some of them were green and Robert could feel his stomach do a somersault in reaction. This was never going to be risk-free. He had not expected it to be; it was the nature of the job, but it was something else entirely when his weapon of choice had been taken away from him. Now he had been given a Muggle gun and some basic instruction as to how he was supposed to use it, but it was not the same as having a wand in hand.

‘We go in,’ Ros announced when a voice in his ear, belonging to Amy, said the same.

‘Good luck,’ she said. Robert could hear the tremor in her voice. She may not be here with them, but apparently she was just as nervous as Robert himself was.

‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ he replied. The bravado with which he said that was meant to convince Amy as well as himself. Because he was nervous. It was not a very Gryffindor attitude, but it was what he felt. And maybe he had been hanging on to what House he had been placed in too much. He wasn’t that House. He was himself and bravery wasn’t just about storming into danger like a headless chicken. It was being afraid and doing it all the same, like Julius had done when he had delivered the message.

Ros kept her silence, but it was obvious that she did not approve of what he had said. Robert wasn’t even sure _he_ approved of what he had said, but it seemed important to keep morale up. And maybe he could really use the encouragement himself. His hands gripped the gun a little tighter, passionately wishing it was a wand instead. But wishes, no matter how desperate, had never been known to transform guns into wands. Magic took spellwork and of that he was not capable now that he was without a wand. He would have to perform this rescue the Muggle way.

Ros took the lead. It went without saying. It just happened and Robert was happy to let her be in charge; she seemed to know what she was doing, which was more than could be said about him.

When they entered the warehouse, chaos had broken out. Death Eaters were fighting against the Auror forces and they were very skilled. They had stayed out of Azkaban for a reason: they had been ridiculously difficult to catch and when Aurors did catch up with them, they went down in a fight, if they went down at all. The Manchester debacle had been a very good example of that.

The Muggles stayed out of it. Zaf and Adam had taken to hiding behind crates, firing their guns whenever they could. Henry Downs was living up to his surname and was down already, lying motionlessly on the ground, and Rabastan Lestrange nursed a bleeding wound in his side. It felt good to know that Muggle weapons truly could harm wizards. It made Robert’s own gun feel a lot less useless. Now he only had to remember how to handle the thing without shooting himself.

Ros gave the warehouse a once-over and jerked her head to the right. ‘That way,’ she said decisively, even if it was unclear how she knew that. Maybe she was just guessing; he’d never know it. And at least going right would enable them to stay away from the fight.

And there were some crates and a few places that were set apart from the rest of the warehouse by man-high screens. Julius could be behind one of those. And in here there weren’t very many other places he could be. This place was not really small, but it wasn’t too big either, which was something that would make the search a whole lot easier to do.

The wizards did not even seem to notice that Ros and he had come in and were on their way to rescue the prisoner they had taken. Robert just hoped that Julius would still be alive. He really had looked bad in the video and even though the Death Eaters would need to keep him alive till dawn to make good on their threats, chances were that he had been murdered when the raid began. Even if he was still alive, Julius had been in a very bad state.

Ros looked over her shoulder, but saw clearly no people coming after them, so she snapped at Robert to follow her into one of the makeshift rooms. There was no door, no lock, but to the man on the chair that didn’t matter. The Gryffindor actually didn’t recognise him at first glance. A second glance however taught him that it was Julius who was sitting, or rather slumping, there.

And that shocked him. Julius didn’t seem to be entirely passed out, but he was not entirely conscious either. Maybe there had been magical torture, but there had been enough of the Muggle way as well, since the bruises on his face and arms seemed to have increased in the few hours since they had seen the video in Thames House. One of Julius’s eyes was swollen shut and the other eye was barely open. It looked like he could fall over any moment, were it not for the bonds that secured him to the chair.

‘Merlin’s beard.’ The whisper had left his mouth before he had given himself permission to do so. He had never liked Julius, but no one could ever really deserve this. This was barbaric. Of course, it were the Death Eaters who had done this, so he really should not have been surprised, but he was. Part of him knew that he was closer to shock than he was to surprise though. It was a fact commonly known that Death Eaters did this to the people they captured, but it was something else entirely to see it like this, see it done to one of their own.

It spoke for just how battered Burke was that he did not even seem to respond. The look in his one open eye was empty, as if he was no longer there, as if the real Julius had gone, leaving only an empty shell behind. He was breathing, his heart was beating, but the thing – soul, spirit – that had made Julius who he was, that person was no longer there. That was what it seemed like.

And Robert felt himself go all cold inside. He had heard of this, read about it. It was something that could happen to a wizard when he had been exposed to the Cruciatus curse for too long. That was what it was called in the books anyway. Basically it meant that a person had been tortured into insanity, something that was clearly a Death Eater speciality. The Gryffindor felt his hands clench into fists. This was the guy he had suspected of being a Death Eater for so long, the one who had put life and mental health on the line to warn them. He owed him.

Ros wasted no time on any such thoughts. She acted, cutting the ropes and plastic cuffs holding Julius in place. He had to jump in and catch the Slytherin before he could crash to the floor like a marionette the strings of which had been cut. Burke was a tall guy, with a lot of muscles and he was a heavy weight, but he could hold him.

‘We need to get him out of here,’ he told Ros.

The female spy looked back at him with a mocking glance. ‘Bravo, Sherlock,’ she commented. ‘Take his right arm. There’s a door at the end of the corridor. It’s faster than going back the way we came.’

Robert nodded; he had seen the door she mentioned, but it would be quite a way yet and they would be visible to the fighting parties a bit further off. But there was not a lot of choice and they needed to get Julius to St Mungo’s sooner rather than later. He was in a bad way, but there were cases known in which the victim made a full recovery. He banished the thought that there had been more cases of failure than there were of success to the back of his mind. He could not let such thoughts weigh him down now.

Ros took his left arm and they all but carried Julius out of this damp hole that smelled of blood and urine. Burke still had given no signs of having realised that they were here. He was staring to a point in the distance, but it would be a fair guess to say that he did not see any of it.  
Ros had noted too. There was a permanent scowl fixed on her face – Robert had trouble remembering if he had ever even seen her without it; it seemed to be her default setting – but there was concern in her eyes and even without telling her the possible consequences of the Cruciatus Curse, she seemed to know the seriousness of the situation. But then, it was hard not to see it when the proof of that curse was practically dragged between them.

They did well so far though. Julius was heavy, he would not deny that, but Ros was a strong woman and he was not exactly weak himself. They would make it, get Julius to St Mungo’s and round up the Death Eaters that were still fighting now. The sounds of battle were still going on and part of him wondered how there could still be a battle when there were so few Death Eaters and the Aurors outnumbered them at least three to one. Maybe he should not underestimate the Death Eaters in battle; they had managed to stay out of Azkaban for all these years for a reason.

He had hardly finished that thought before a shout drew his attention and as he looked over his shoulder, almost all his hopes for a successful escape went right down the drain. Two wizards in dark robes were running after them. Even without seeing their faces, Robert knew that they were no Aurors. The present Aurors had been firmly instructed to focus on the battle and to let MI-5 worry about the rescue. Aurors would not come after them unless there was a valid reason to do so. There was none.

And it took him all of half a second to realise this. Then he recognised the faces too. Andrew Simmons and Antonin Dolohov were in pursuit, clearly not ready to part with their bargaining chip. They had blocked the entrance to the corridor they were in somehow, preventing the Aurors from following. Two Death Eaters, armed and clearly intent on killing, and they had no means of magical defence. All they had were the guns and Robert had no idea how to handle his properly.

Ros had noticed too. She let go of Julius in favour of grabbing her gun and turning back to face the Death Eaters, which could count as both a very brave and very stupid thing to do. She had no magic and she would try to take on two highly skilled and lethal wizards? Did she have a death wish? This was the kind of bravery that Julius usually referred to as Gryffindor recklessness. Robert tended to dismiss the notion, but right now he was in immediate danger of sympathising with his colleague.

‘What…?’ he began.

Ros cut him off. ‘Get him out of here,’ she snapped, forestalling every intention of protesting Robert had entertained. It was obvious that she was not in the mood for discussion and there was no time for that either. And for the moment Ros was his superior officer; she could have told him to dance the waltz and he’d have to obey. He’d have to abide now as well, even if that meant he would leave her in danger.

‘Good luck,’ he said, not knowing what else to say. If she’d been born a witch, she would have been in Gryffindor, he imagined, and she would have earned it. But it might be the death of her and as unsociable as Ros Myers was, that was something he would not wish on anyone.

Julius was heavy, but they were close to the door. This route would not lead them straight to the commando post, but it would get them out of the warehouse and Robert did not allow himself to think beyond that. One step at a time would have to do. Behind him he could hear a shot ring out. Robert had to force himself not to look back, to trust that Ros could hold their pursuers off for just a little longer. He didn’t allow himself to think at what cost she would do that.

The door was unlocked, which was a stroke of luck; without either his wand or the key he would never have gotten out by this way. Maybe there was just a small amount of luck left to him in this world. With no back-up, no magic and two Death Eaters chasing him that was something that was not so much as a luxury, but more like a necessity of life.

Julius was walking of his own volition now, even if it was more stumbling than walking. He moved like a drunken sleepwalker might do; unaware of where he was and where he was going, relying on his companion to get him out of here. Robert even doubted he knew what happened. But at least he was not leaning on him the way he had done and that was worth a great deal.

‘Move it, Burke,’ he told the Slytherin, trying to sound like he usually sounded in the hopes of provoking Julius into a reaction. ‘We need to go.’

If his companion had heard him at all, he didn’t show it and so it was down to Robert to push the door closed again. The fight was going on inside and there was no telling if they would be safe here and in this case he was rather safe than sorry. The farther they could get from this place, the better it would be.

But that notion went out of his head entirely when he heard what happened behind the door. ‘ _Avada Kedavra_!’ someone yelled and Robert froze. There was no defending oneself from the Killing Curse, not magically and certainly not in any way that Muggles could come up with. Unless Ros had ducked, she was no more.

‘Amy, is she alive?’ he demanded, glad for the piece of Muggle technology that enabled him to talk to the Grid. At the moment it at least left him the illusion of not being completely cut off from all help.

‘I don’t know.’ The Ravenclaw witch sounded nervous and scared, even though she was not in the thick of it, but safely on the Grid. Clearly it had its perks being a desk officer. ‘We’ve lost contact with her, Robert. She’s not responding.’ The distress was obvious in her voice; Robert could almost see her wringing her hands.

That was possibly the worst news he could have received, but if his fears were true and Ros Myers was dead, that didn’t change the fact that she had wanted him to get Julius to safety and to stall was to endanger both their lives. Ros surely would not thank him for such a stupid thing.

He dragged Julius with him in the right direction. ‘We need a way out of here, Control,’ he told her. Professionalism might just save his sanity. ‘I’ve got the package out, but he’s unresponsive and I may have two targets in pursuit any second now. Where do I go? It’s like a maze here.’

That it was. The door had led him to a labyrinth of backstreets and alleys and in the dark it was difficult to see which was the right way. And at the moment he did not care much about right ways anyway. All he cared about was to get as far away from the warehouse as quickly as possible. Julius’s condition was worrying him, but it would have to wait till they had made it to safety. There was no safety here.

Maybe it was Robert’s own professional approach that made Amy piece herself together. ‘What entrance did you use?’ she demanded in a very business-like voice. When Robert answered her best he could, she went on: ‘Right, you should be standing in some sort of square.’

‘Confirmed,’ Robert said.

‘Take the first alley to your left.’ Amy sounded tense, but she was holding up and helping out and that was all he needed. ‘We’ll be trying to get you to the nearest big street. That is away from the control vehicle, but if I send you there, there are half a dozen ways they could cut you off before you get there.’

‘Copy that,’ Robert said. ‘Come on, Burke, time to get moving. Come on, Julius, speed up a bit.’ He tried and failed to make it sound like he was pleading with the Slytherin, but it didn’t matter either way. Julius remained unresponsive, staring ahead of him in a way that made it quite clear that his mind was elsewhere, if it was still there to begin with. ‘Listen, Burke, I never cared much for you and your morals. I don’t care for the latter now still, but you did a brave thing back there, so will you please move?’ He didn’t know why he was talking in that way – it was not like him at all – but he was prepared to do anything as long as it got them moving. Stranger was it that he actually found that he meant most of the things he said. If someone had told him that he would think about Julius as a hero a month, even a week, ago, he would have sent them to St Mungo’s to check for spell damage.

And at least Julius kept moving. He needed Robert to steer him in the right direction as Amy rapped directions in his ear and for five blessed minutes he was allowed the illusion that they might make it out after all.

But it was too good to be true. They were close now, very close, but when he entered the square he had to cross in order to get into the alley that would lead him to the street they were trying to reach, he saw that the alley had been blocked. Some moron had put a container like thing in front of it. With Julius being as he was, there was no chance that he could climb over it or go around it. And he didn’t have his wand to levitate the thing away.

‘Control, the road is blocked,’ he reported.

‘Merlin’s beard,’ Amy muttered. ‘Right, you’ll need to track back about fifty meters. Then you need to take a turn left and then after…’

She kept going, but Robert did no longer hear her. He had heard something else, something he had been desperately wishing he would not hear: footsteps, running footsteps. All he could do was turn around, grab the gun and pray that it was only Ros who had made a miraculous escape and was now coming to help out. There was no other way out of here. There were only high stone walls, too high to climb and escape that way.

It was not Ros. He had known that all along, but he could feel himself go all cold inside when he saw who it was that came running into the square, wand at the ready. Maybe he should count himself lucky that Dolohov was not here, but the presence of Andrew Simmons was sufficient to make a very cold shiver go down his spine.

Simmons looked at the scene and a grin appeared on his face. He spoke, saying something to Julius, but Robert’s heart pounding frantically in his ears drowned out the sound. He should be pointing his gun at the Death Eater and pull that trigger, but he found that he could not for the life of him remember how he was supposed to use it. The knowledge was gone from his mind, vaporised.

Simmons drew his wand and pointed it at Julius. Robert didn’t hear what he said; he only saw the green light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we get back to the events in the warehouse. PLease review? I'd really love to hear what you think!


	26. Ros Myers V

It had all gone too smoothly, Ros would later reflect. Something was bound to go wrong sooner rather than later. Maybe there were no easy solutions when it came to wizards, but  with any luck she’d never find out. When all this was over, wizards and non-magical people could hopefully go back to ignoring one another. She would never admit to this aloud, but this magic bloody well unnerved her. This was too far out of her comfort zone.

The battle was still raging on when they found Julius, tied to a chair. He did not even acknowledge that he was no longer alone. He just sat there, staring into the distance. West had muttered a curse under his breath. It was almost as if he knew what was the matter with Burke. Ros wasn’t sure she wanted to know. For the moment it was more important to get the hell out of this warehouse. The raid was not exactly going to plan; the resistance the Death Eaters literally conjured up was far stronger than anticipated, Ruth reported in her earpiece. The Aurors had a very hard time of breaking through their attacks and defences. So, the sooner she got her temporary colleague out of this hellhole, the better it would be.

Julius didn’t need support as much as he needed dragging out. Ros felt like she was practically carrying the young man away. Robert was taking a lot of the weight, face twisted in a combination of concentration and rage. The Senior Case Officer felt the anger too, but if she let that take over now, that wouldn’t be any use to anyone, this young man least of all. And she had seen enough of wizards to know that she did not stand a chance against them in a fight. No, she’d let the Aurors deal with the job of catching them and she’d take her revenge in the interrogation room. Men in general seemed to react badly to scalding hot coffee in their laps. She was in no way opposed to vengeance at all, but there was a time and a place for it. And she would be the one to laugh last.

Of course that would be when disaster hit. There was shouting behind them and when Ros turned around, she saw two Death Eaters running after them. How they had gotten away from the fight was beyond her – she had been assured that such a thing could not possibly happen – but it had happened all the same and now she needed to deal with it. West didn’t have his wand – bloody stupid idea not to let him have it – and it was visible to anyone with eyes that he had no idea what to do with the gun he had been given. It would be up to her.

In this line of work it was often a matter of doing whatever it was that needed to be done and Ros Myers understood that better than most. She had even given up on her own father when that was the best for the country. It still hurt, especially now that she knew he may never come out of that prison alive, but it was not important in comparison with her job. Job first, everything else later. Tonight it was her job to ensure that Julius Burke got out of here.

She let go of Burke and gave him a good shove in the right direction. ‘Go,’ she ordered.

Robert’s face was a study in shock. ‘ _What_?’

This was more like the obnoxious wizard she had seen for the past couple of days and it triggered her own anger. She stubbornly refused to admit that the anger was only a way to mask the fear that was trying to make itself known. ‘Get him out of here!’ she snapped, hoping her tone of voice would make it clear to him that this was not something that was up for discussion. There was no time for that.

It seemed to have done the trick. ‘Good luck.’ He didn’t sound like he believed she could make it out alive.

That was a thought she could not allow into her head. And at least she had her gun. It may not be too much of a weapon against those bloody magical sticks, but it was something at least and they would have trouble aiming their spells while they were still running. Ros could tell they weren’t used to physical exercise. It was no long way from the main part of the warehouse to where she was standing, but both of them seemed to be panting and out of breath. Probably they didn’t need to run a lot when they could appear and disappear at will. Who needed to walk then?

But she was not about to let them anywhere near her and she sure as hell wouldn’t give them a chance to curse her. She fired a bullet at the wizard she recognised as Antonin Dolohov. According to Ruth he was the one with the longest criminal record in wizarding society, and therefore the most dangerous Death Eater. Best take out the most dangerous one first before he tried to send her to an unplanned meeting with her Maker.

The bullet didn’t miss and wasn’t bounced off some magical shield, but it wasn’t bull’s eye either. It grazed the wizard’s side. The result was a howl of pain of which any wolf could be jealous. He even dropped his wand, which was lucky. That was something that was in general hard to come by in this line of work, so she was grateful fort small mercies.

She didn’t get the chance to take advantage of it though. Andrew Simmons, Dolohov’s companion, still had his wand and the fact that he was currently pointing it at her could not mean well for her chances of survival. And she was proven right when he shouted that Avada Kedavra at her.

Ruth had used some of her time to research punishable crimes in the wizarding world and Ros, having “borrowed” her notes, had spent some time reading about the three Unforgivable Curses. The Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse, was one of those. There was no defence against it. When one was hit by it, they were dead.

Ros remembered this and it was instinct more than conscious thought that made her throw herself out of the way. Her left shoulder acquainted itself painfully with the concrete floor when she landed on it, but at least the curse sailed right over her head and took out a piece of the wall on impact, it was that strong. And she still had her gun in her hands, which was something she supposed she could be grateful for.

Simmons growled in frustration as he aimed again, but this time Ros beat him to it. She was still on the ground, not the best position to take aim and shoot, but sometimes needs must and she might not be quick enough to get out of the way if that bastard if she gave him the chance to fire another spell. The bullet, true to expectations, missed the wizard by almost half a meter, but he was forced to duck out of the way all the same, which was a result. That was what counted most anyway.

‘Go!’ Dolohov shouted at his partner in crime. He was getting to his feet again, something she didn’t like at all. There was no telling how long she could last without at least some form of help. If she was honest, she was glad that she was still breathing. When it came to a fight with wizards, she was clearly not all that well-equipped and she had a lingering suspicion that she had only managed to injure Dolohov because she had taken him by surprise. He would not make that same mistake another time.

 _Go where?_ Ros could not help but wonder about that. It became apparent soon enough though when Simmons made for the exit Robert had gone through. She fired a shot at his back; last thing she wanted was to let that man get anywhere near her colleagues, but she was in no position to do anything about it. Dolohov was obviously intent on dealing with her before he followed his comrade.

And soon there was no more time for thought. It was like a dance, although Ros felt more like a prey than a dancer. She managed to fire a few shots, but mostly she was just diving and ducking out of the way of the lethal spells the Death Eater sent at her. She heard a few of the ones she had been told were unforgiveable and was grateful to whatever God that Dolohov’s aim was not anywhere near up to scratch.

‘Control, I need some back-up here, right bloody now!’ she snapped into the microphone hidden in her jacket. She only realised that nobody was coming when she noticed that her earpiece had gone missing and the button of the jacket in which the microphone had been hidden had been smashed by her fall. She was on her own.

It was a fact commonly known that Ros Myers didn’t do despair. She came close then. But she was not the one to throw in the towel before she had been well and truly beaten and even then it was still debatable whether or not she would give up. Ros was a fighter and she had something to prove still. Yes, she had helped in bringing down her own father when he had been about to overthrow the government, but she had been involved in the conspiracy at first and that was not something people were anxious to let her forget. Some still thought she could betray Section D when the fancy struck her. She had betrayed her father on a whim too, hadn’t she? Why would she give everything she had when it was clear she was still holding grudges? And so she kept pulling that trigger, kept ducking out of the way of spells. Somehow, sometime this must end. The fight could not last forever.

It didn’t and when the end came, it came rather unexpectedly. Suddenly Dolohov, who as it was had been preparing to blast the nearest wall to smithereens, turned on his heels and threw up some kind of magical shield to protect him from the flash of red light that came at him, seemingly out of nowhere.

Ros got to her feet the moment it seemed Dolohov had forgotten all about her. Whoever it was that had come to her rescue, they were doing an amazing job of keeping that bastard off her back. It was a surprise however to find that the one who was doing this, was no other than Harry Potter.

Ros had not seen him often, but the times she had, had left her with the impression of someone who may be utterly devoted to the job and the welfare of his officers, but who was not very impressive or intimidating otherwise. To be honest, she had not thought he was particularly intelligent either.

It was only when she saw how he was duelling Dolohov that she realised that she may just have to eat her words. Harry Potter clearly knew what he was doing. Spell after spell was fired and it seemed that Dolohov had trouble keeping up. That was fine with Ros, but she didn’t dare to take the risk to move and expose her back. It was fairly obvious that Simmons had gone after Robert and that he didn’t want anyone except his own best friend following. If that wizard there got wind of her trying to go after Simmons, he might kill her before she had advanced more than three steps.

But there was a simpler solution. It was also very non-magical, but who cared about that? Wizards were always convinced that Muggles were living in a positively medieval way – Ros rather thought the opposite was true – and that their weapons were not effective on wizards. She’d gladly prove them wrong.

And she had no reservations about blowing Dolohov’s brains out either. True, she had been aiming for the shoulder rather than the head, but it was hard to aim right when the target was constantly moving. Officers were not supposed to kill suspects, but it would be easy to put this one down to an accident or just plain old self-defence. And it was not as if the world needed Dolohov alive. He would have killed her if she had given him as much as half a chance. There was something alarmingly satisfying about seeing his body fall to the ground.

Harry Potter looked at her over the corpse. He didn’t seem too pleased about the killing – rather unhappy, more like – but he gave her a nod in respect. It was a strange moment, Ros reflected later, and she didn’t know what to make of it. And she hardly had the time to think about that there and then. Robert was still out on a limb, with a known killer after him.

‘Simmons headed that way,’ she pointed, before she set the example herself by sprinting for the door, digging up her mobile while she was at it. Her comms were out of order, possibly beyond repair, but she still had her phone and she would never find her way in this maze outside without some directions to guide her.

‘Ruth,’ she acknowledged when the intelligence analyst picked up her phone.

‘Ros?’ Ruth sounded incredulous. ‘You were off comms! We thought you’d…’ The Senior Case Officer noted wryly that this must be the first time the other woman had shown any interest in her well-being.

Ros didn’t let her finish. ‘You thought wrong,’ she interrupted. ‘Where’s West gone? It’s a bloody maze down here.’

‘We lost contact with him about five minutes ago,’ Ruth replied. Some of the trademark nervousness returned to her voice.

Losing contact didn’t mean that someone was dead. It didn’t even mean that they were harmed. She was the living and breathing example of that. That didn’t alter the fact that usually in this line of work it did mean the worst though and she was well aware of that. So, by the sound of it, was Ruth.

‘Last place you had him?’ she demanded.

‘About five minutes away from where you’re standing,’ Ruth reported. ‘I’ll guide you there.’

‘You’d better,’ Ros muttered. The intelligence analyst either didn’t hear her or pretended she hadn’t when she started to rap directions in Ros’s ear.

Harry Potter had caught up now. ‘What’s happening?’ He certainly had a bit more exercise than the Death Eaters, because he fell easily into step with her.

‘Burke is unresponsive, West was supposed to get him out,’ she reported. ‘Simmons went after them. They lost contact with West about five minutes ago.’ She was being economic with her explanation, she knew, but Mr Potter seemed to have gotten the gist of it though. He gave her another nod to signal his understanding.

Ros had a good sense of direction, but it was a maze here and it was difficult to determine where they were going. At one point it was even difficult to tell where the warehouse was. The moment they had left the wards that had shielded the cursed thing from the outside world, it simply vanished. The Senior Case Officer was not too worried though. If she wanted to, she could always find it again. She had read the address and committed it to memory. According to Ruth and Amy that was enough to find it again. Ros simply took their word for it.

This part of town was not illuminated very well. There was only the bare minimum of street lanterns and the ones that were there did not work half of the time. The area breathed desolation. Maybe this had been booming business thirty years ago, but it wasn’t so now. It was one of those places that seemed to have been forgotten entirely by the government when they renovated other parts.

‘How far?’ she questioned when she rounded another corner, left this time. It was too narrow here to be running next to each other, so Ros took the lead, since she was the one with the phone, and therefore the one who knew where to go. And it made her feel just that tad bit better. She had been running around after wizards figuratively and she had no ambition whatsoever to do it literally as well. Petty perhaps, certainly given the circumstances they were in.

‘Almost there, Ros.’ Ruth sounded as on edge as Ros felt, which was by no means good news. ‘Second right and then the first left. Fifty meters ahead and then you’ll come into some kind of courtyard. Robert said that it was closed off somehow…’

Which had given Simmons the chance to catch up to the fugitives. You didn’t have to be a genius to add two and two and make four. No way of escape, one wizard in what looked like a state of shock and another who didn’t know how to use a gun. Add one murderous Death Eater to the mix and the result was pretty much predictable. Ros cursed under her breath. ‘That’s where you lost him?’

‘Comms went down,’ Ruth reported. ‘We think there was shouting, but we can’t be sure.’

Shouting there would have been, Ros imagined, what with spells being shouted all around today. There was a fairly large chance that when she came into that damned courtyard, she would find two corpses and one living Death Eater cackling manically over them, but she increased her pace all the same. Harry Potter followed suit. He hadn’t said anything since he had requested to be brought up to speed and Ros was grateful for it; she was not in the mood for idle chatter today.

They were closing in and now she could hear sounds as well. The night was silent and sounds carried here. And she heard shouting. No, that was not the right word for it. What she heard were cries, furious and sad cries at the same time. It was impossible to make out to whom the voice making them belonged though. She’d bet a month’s salary that it wasn’t Simmons though.

She skidded to a stop when she entered the courtyard properly, almost causing the head of the Auror Department to collide with her. Her initial assumptions about what she’d see here were not even that far off the mark. Strangely enough that was the first thing she noticed before anything else registered in her mind. Two corpses and only one still alive. It was as she had feared. Ros Myers didn’t do emotion, but she came dangerously close now.

A second glance taught her that she was not entirely right though. One young man was lying on his back, eyes staring unseeing up to the lantern right above his head. There was not a mark on him, no wound that could have caused his demise, not even a scratch. He could have suffered a heart attack for all Ros knew and have died of it. That would not be what had happened though. Victims of a Killing Curse would look exactly the same.

There was another corpse in the courtyard. Or he may still live; it was difficult to see from where she was standing. One thing was certain though: even if he was still alive, he wouldn’t be for much longer. Andrew Simmons was not moving, either dead or passed out from the violence that was being inflicted on his body. His wand was lying on the ground, a few meters away from him, unnoticed by the young man who was kneeling on Simmons’s torso as he landed blow after blow on the Death Eater’s face. He was crying as he did that, bitter tears of anger and grief. There were no words though; Ros suspected he was beyond them. She had seen many a colleague go to pieces in the field and knew she was witnessing it in the young wizard now.

‘Merlin’s beard,’ Harry Potter whispered. For once, Ros completely agreed.

She forced herself to get a move on and approach the grief-stricken wizard. Andrew Simmons was still one of their suspects. If he was dead, the blows he landed now were useless and if by some miracle he was still alive, they would need to bring him in for questioning, once someone had put his face back together. There was not much left of it now by the looks of it.

‘Enough,’ she told the young man, grabbing his upper arms to turn him towards her. ‘It is over.’

The eyes that now turned to face her did not seem to take any notice of her. The hands still pounded on the dead man’s face, because up close there could be no doubt about that. ‘He’s gone.’ It was more of a growl than anything else and for some reason Ros didn’t think it applied to Andrew Simmons.

She wished Ruth was here, who was altogether much better suited to deal with situations like this. Ros could pull it off if she was on an op, when it was only pretence, but she failed spectacularly when it was real. She had never been any good at it either, but there were not many other people now to do the job for her and her companion didn’t count; Harry Potter was seemingly in a state of shock.

‘You can’t do anything for him now,’ she pointed out, rather unnecessarily in her own opinion. Her words sounded wooden and formal, even to her own ears. How was she even supposed to make this young man believe her? ‘And Simmons is dead. He can’t hurt anyone ever again.’

The wizard blinked and another few tears rolled down his cheeks, which told Ros exactly how bad things were. She’d only known him for a couple of days, but that was long enough to establish that he’d never cry in public, not unless something had gone very, very wrong. Like it had gone today.

‘He’s gone.’ The strength went out of his blows and his voice was no more than a whisper. ‘He’s gone, Ros.’

 _I know. I bloody well know_. ‘It’s over now,’ she repeated, desperately wishing that someone else could have taken care of this.

Unlike the first time she’d said those words, they made an impact now. The fists unclenched and the shoulders began to shake with the force of his sobs. Before Ros knew it she was holding the young man in her arms as Julius Burke succumbed to the tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Julius reflects on the operation. Please review? This was a very difficult chapter to write and I’d really like to hear your thoughts!


	27. Julius Burke V

The dreams were always the same. They began the same, they ended the same. Sometimes Julius wasn’t even sure that they were dreams at all; they had happened for real after all. They were memories, but they always came to haunt his sleep, so he supposed that they counted as dreams. Or well, they were more like nightmares, he’d had to concede. Dreams classified as nice, soothing, pleasant. Nightmares were the opposite of that and lately Julius felt like his entire life had turned into one unending nightmare.

He kept reliving that night and he knew it worried the Healers that he was so singularly unresponsive to them. It wasn’t that he did it on purpose; they just didn’t seem important, not after what had happened in that poorly lit courtyard, not after he had been so spectacularly unable to be useful and save Robert’s life.

He hated himself for that, hated himself for having been so absorbed in his own world that he had done nothing, nothing at all. But at the time it had seemed like the safest option he had. When the Death Eaters had started torturing him in earnest, he had soon learned that there were only two choices: experience it in full and lose his mind or retreat into his own head and wait it out, hoping that would allow him to come out of this with his sanity intact. He blamed that for his own behaviour that night, not that it was any real excuse.

By the time Ros and Robert finally came to save him, he had retreated so deep into the safety of his own head that he had barely acknowledged their presence at all. It was all a bit of a haze, a blur that he failed to make sense of. Julius was vaguely aware of being dragged away to only Merlin knew where by Merlin knew who. There was shouting too, but he had blocked it out. There had been shouting to when they… No, best not go there. Those were memories he would pay good money for to forget.

And in the end it had not been shouting that had cut through the haze and made him realise that the person with him was not a Death Eater and was not about to make him experience the Cruciatus Curse all over again. _Listen, Burke, I never cared much for you and your morals. I don’t care for the latter now still, but you did a brave thing back there, so will you please move?_ His first reaction had been wondering what West was doing here and if for some reason someone had replaced the real West with a fake. Robert West didn’t approve of anything Julius did and to hear him say that he considered something Julius had done as brave – a true Gryffindor trait and therefore, coming from a Gryffindor’s mouth, a compliment – was something he didn’t know how to handle at all.

But he did as he was told, some fragment of his mind telling him that he was being rescued and that it was all going to be fine after all. But reacquainting himself with his own body was something he managed only with difficulty. His nerves were oversensitive and each and every single muscle ached as he moved it. The Cruciatus Curse had that effect, he’d read once, in what now felt like another lifetime. It was something else entirely to experience it for real. And his body was conspiring against him. Because dear Merlin, did it hurt. He hurt all over. Never before had he experienced anything like it. He found he shied away from coming back to the real world. When he was safely retreated in the safety of his own mind, he could feel the hurt, but not that keenly. Now that he was coming back, every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire, even though the curse had long since been ended. Before then he had thought that people exaggerated when they said that people could be tortured into insanity. Now, he was not so certain anymore. The pain felt like it was more than sufficient to drive him mad.

Julius stumbled over his own feet and he had the distinct feeling that he was slowing West down, but the Gryffindor never said a word about it. He tried to encourage him to keep walking, to keep breathing, to not give up – all things that Julius had never expected to hear him say – and then supported him as they made their way to wherever it was that they were going.

Until they stopped and turned around. All Julius’s energy had gone into putting one foot in front of the other and trying to stop himself from screaming in agony, so he didn’t know why they stopped.

‘Control, the road is blocked,’ Robert said. Even Julius, not entirely compos mentis, could hear the tension in his voice.

Whatever it was that Control said, it didn’t help them. Julius heard the footsteps and a cold shiver went down his spine. Footsteps could not mean anything good. His mind associated approaching footsteps as a prelude to torture and he shied away from that. But even though he wanted to run, even though his mind screamed at him to run, he couldn’t move. His body refused to obey his commands. And so he stood like frozen when Andrew Simmons came into the square, evil grin plastered on his face and wand at the ready. There was only one possible outcome. He was not going to let Julius leave this place alive. The Slytherin almost welcomed the idea; at least it would mean an end to the endless hurt.

‘You really thought you could get away?’ Simmons questioned, throwing in a laugh to emphasise just how stupid that assumption had been.

Julius could see the wand being raised, could see Simmons’s mouth open. ‘ _Avada Kedavra_!’

The end he expected didn’t come. There was too much pain for it to be the afterlife. He was knocked off his feet, but not from the direction he’d expected. The curse should have hit him in his chest, but he was pushed from the left and by something more solid than a Killing Curse.

The weight disappeared as quickly as it had come and then Julius fell to the ground. The curse soared over his head, but it didn’t touch him. The collision with the cold stone floor was what almost literally knocked him back into his body. He could feel again. Mainly it was just pain, but his mind had cleared as well. He could think again.

Something must have knocked him out of the way, he realised as he frantically searched the square for the source of his rescue. At first, there didn’t seem to be such a thing, but then he looked again. This time he caught sight of an altogether familiar face. Robert was lying on his back under the nearest working lantern, eyes staring up at the light. But he didn’t see anything anymore.

Julius’s heart caught in his throat. Robert was dead. In his line of work it was inevitable that he saw dead bodies every now and then. He had seen enough of them to recognise a victim of the Killing Curse. There was no mark on West’s body, nothing at all to suggest that this was not a perfectly natural death. There was nothing at all to suggest that he should not by all rights be living and breathing still. The fact remained that Robert West was neither breathing nor living now.

He had sacrificed his own life so that Julius may live. The idea was so alien that it took the Slytherin several seconds to wrap his head around the idea, and even then it was something that was difficult to understand. They had been hating each other since age eleven. They had been rivals for as long as he could remember. Never once had they been as much as civil to each other. Until today.

Robert had done so many things he had never even expected. He had been kind to begin with, had done his best to get Julius away from his captors, had even spoken kind words on top of that. And now he had willingly given his life in Julius’s stead. It was almost too much to comprehend.

He turned around to look at Simmons. The Death Eater too seemed puzzled, but it didn’t last long. Then his face twisted in the most frightening and evil smile Julius had ever seen. ‘It won’t save you, boy.’

It was the mocking belittlement of Robert’s sacrifice, something that was so selfless, so noble and so very, very brave, that pushed Julius over the edge. It was like someone had lit a fire inside of him that dulled the pain and left room only for fury, stronger than he had ever felt before. It was a bit frightening, but Julius could not spare too much thought for that in his current state. The anger drowned out everything else.

‘Don’t you dare mock him.’ The words came out as an angry growl that he was not used to hearing, not coming out of his mouth. ‘He’s ten times the man you are.’ _Even if I didn’t see it until it was too late._

‘With all due respect, don’t you really mean to say he _was_?’ Simmons chuckled, clearly intent on making Julius lose his temper.

Julius was only too happy to oblige. He didn’t have his wand – he didn’t know what had happened to it – but Muggles didn’t need wands. If they could hold their own, then so could he. Thinking didn’t come into it when he practically launched himself at the Death Eater. Simmons was surprised when he saw the Slytherin charging at him like a bull that had seen a red flag, but he managed to throw in another curse. This time Julius ducked out of the way of the green light. There was something of a red haze clouding his view, but he didn’t care. There was only the need, the burning _need_ , to make the despicable wizard pay for what he had done.

Events blurred together. In hindsight he couldn’t say what he had done exactly or how much time had passed. The first thing he properly remembered was a voice piercing through the haze. ‘Enough!’ someone said forcefully. That someone was grabbing his upper arms and turning him away from Simmons. ‘It is over.’

But it wasn’t, was it? This wasn’t over until Simmons was dead, until he had been made to feel the all-consuming pain that had settled in Julius’s chest. ‘He’s gone!’ he said.

‘You can’t do anything for him now,’ the voice replied. ‘And Simmons is dead. He can’t hurt anyone ever again.’

The words made the haze subside, made his mind clear. Simmons was dead. It was over. Julius blinked and looked around him. The first thing he noticed was that it was Ros Myers who was holding him. There was something in her eyes though that did not quite belong there. It was softer, kinder than he remembered them being. Ros Myers didn’t do soft and she certainly didn’t do compassion. And yet that was what was shining in her eyes now.

But she still didn’t understand, did she? ‘He’s gone,’ he repeated. ‘He’s gone, Ros.’

‘It’s over now,’ Ros said.

Julius looked down, only now realising that he was not in fact sitting on the ground. He was sitting on someone rather than the floor. But this person didn’t have much of a face anymore. It had been bashed in to the point where it was not recognisable anymore. Only the haircut and colour told him that this corpse – because that was what it was – had been called Andrew Simmons in life.

He didn’t understand how things had come to be like this. It didn’t make any sense to him. He didn’t remember it, even though he had been here. Had Ros ended Simmons’s life? Julius couldn’t say, until he looked down at his own hands. It was only now that he felt that they were hurting worse than the rest of his body. They were clenched into fists and, to his surprise, stained with blood.

It was only then that the Galleon finally dropped. He was responsible for the death of Andrew Simmons. He had avenged Robert’s death, had made his sacrifice worth it. But why then did he feel so empty and at the same time so full? There was a sense of loss, but all the while he felt so full of sorrow, guilt and anger that he feared he might burst.

In three days’ time that had not changed. He knew that it worried the Healers that he didn’t talk to anyone, except for the bare necessities. They just didn’t understand that talking seemed to have lost all its meaning now that the word had been turned upside down. They tried to coax him into talking about what had happened to him, telling him that, even though he might not see that now, it really would do him a world of good. Julius had rewarded them with a death glare for their troubles. They were all so shallow. They didn’t understand, couldn’t possibly understand what he was feeling.

He’d heard them talk to Harry Pearce and Ros Myers when they came to visit – which had tempted Julius almost into a smile; the fuss the Healers made about Muggles in their hospital would have been hilarious in any other circumstance – about transferring him to Spell Damage, because the Cruciatus Curse had clearly addled his brain, as was only to be expected. Mr Pearce had told them in no uncertain terms that they would not do such a thing unless they were considering a career change in the very near future. ‘Mr Burke is as sane as you and I,’ he’d said, although Julius had a lingering suspicion that each was questioning the other’s sanity.

‘With all due respect, Mr Pearce, we are his Healers and as he has proven to be unresponsive to our treatments thus far…’ the Healer, whose name Julius hadn’t bothered to learn, had been prattling on.

The head of Section D clearly didn’t have any more patience for it than Julius. ‘He’s suffered a heavy mental blow,’ he had snapped at the other man. ‘He hasn’t lost his mind, for heaven’s sake!’ When the Healer made to protest again, he went on: ‘For the moment, he is my officer and you will not treat him as a lunatic, son, unless you want to find yourself without a job within the hour. Have I made myself very clear?’

The Healer had turned from worried to indignant, not just because of the threat, but possibly mostly because he had just been patronised by a mere Muggle. ‘You don’t have the power!’

‘The Minister owes me a few favours,’ Mr Pearce had said, unflappable in the face of the pathetic man’s anger. ‘I think you will find that I in fact can and will do it.’

That had been the end of all talk of insanity and Julius was grateful for it. It certainly didn’t solve his problems, but it felt good to be understood. Only a week ago he would have laughed if someone told him that it were the Muggles of all people, the very group of people he had looked down on for most of his life, who understood what he had gone through, and the only ones to understand that he was not tortured into insanity.

He was pondering this when the door to his room opened and Miss Hamilton came in. She lingered in the doorway for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure how to proceed, even if she should proceed at all.

‘Come in,’ Julius said gruffly. He wasn’t sure what to make of the Muggle-born girl now. He had never liked her and he certainly would not have given her that impression, but something had changed. He respected and even liked certain Muggles these days. If that wasn’t proof that something had changed, then he didn’t know what would be. And she had come to visit him these past three days, every single day as well. He didn’t know why and she’d never said, but she did.

Amy conjured up a tentative smile. ‘They say that you’re all right now,’ she said. ‘The Healers, I mean. You should be taking a few pain relievers for a few days, but other than that they say you’re right as rain. There’s nothing more they can do for you.’

‘Don’t you mean that they just don’t know what to do with me?’ Julius inquired harshly. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation and his patience with his foolish Healers had all but run out altogether. The only reason that he hadn’t lost his temper with them already was that it just didn’t seem worth the trouble getting his dander up over something so insignificant.

The smile disappeared. ‘That too,’ she admitted, knowing better than to deny it. ‘Anyway, you’ve got permission to go home.’ She tried to plaster the smile on her face again, but failed when she noticed that Julius did not even acknowledge her announcement. ‘Don’t you want to go home?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘To my family?’ he asked.

Amy nodded. ‘Mr Pearce arranged it all. Adam said you should be debriefed first, but Mr Pearce said that can wait until interrogations are completed and you should just go home and rest. If you’ll believe it, he even got as far as to owl your parents when he learned that was the only way to contact them and they said you’re more than welcome to stay with them.’

‘Then why aren’t they here?’ Julius demanded. He loved his parents. They were part of the small group of people who respected his career choice and his motives for doing what he did. His mother could be a bit too caring every now and then and his father could be a bit too vocal at times, but they were his family and he loved them. So, if they had indeed offered to put him up, why was Amy here and not his parents?

The smile turned to a grimace. ‘They said they’d meet you outside.’

That was very unlike his parents. ‘Why?’

The unease increased in tenfold. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter, does it?’

But it did to Julius. He had been living on his own for nigh on two years now, but he was on friendly terms with his family. This did not make any sense. And neither did he understand why they had not been here to visit him. Mr Potter had been here twice, so had Harry Pearce and Ros been, Amy had been in every day and even Ruth, with whom he’d barely had any contact at all, had come to visit with kind words and a box of chocolates. Zaf had popped in once too and Adam had been with him. To Julius’s surprise it was the Section Chief, who disliked wizards with a passion, who had told him to listen and had then told him that this was not his fault and he should not even for one moment think it was. But his family had never come, not even once. He had not given it much thought before, but now that he did think of it, it seemed very strange.

‘It does,’ he told her. ‘Why aren’t they here?’

The witch grimaced. ‘I’m afraid they didn’t like my presence here. They said so in as many words.’ She bit her lip. ‘Mr Pearce is currently talking to them in the lobby.’ Given by her facial expression, it would be a safe bet to say that those words could best be translated as his parents getting a talking to. Julius could not say he was surprised. Muggle-borns were tolerated by most pure-blood families, because they had to, but not because they wanted to. His parents were no exception to that rule. Julius had not been any different, but unlike them he did not have the choice to avoid them. And that had changed him.

Now he felt his face wrinkle in disgust. It was hard to forget after all that it had been a half-blood who had saved his life, one who had a Muggle for a mother and was not afraid or ashamed to let the world know that. In school he had learned that nothing riled Robert more than an insult about his mother being a Muggle. It had turned out that Robert and not Julius was the better man out of them two.

‘I’m sorry,’ Amy muttered. She looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her up, she was so ashamed of the news she had been made to deliver. ‘I shouldn’t have come, but…’

‘Why are you here?’ Julius asked. He tried to sound kind, but he had a feeling he failed.

Amy’s reaction confirmed that for him. She bit her lip again and looked at the floor. ‘It’s Robert,’ she said. ‘Or well, his funeral.’ She swallowed and wrung her hands, like she tended to do whenever she was nervous. ‘It’s tomorrow. His family wants a small funeral for just friends and family, but I know that Mr Potter and some officers of Section D are going anyway. I thought…’ She hesitated again, but then took a breath and gathered her courage. ‘I thought it would be good if you and I went as well.’ Now that she had made her main point, the talking quickly turned to her usual rambling. ‘I know he wasn’t exactly a friend of yours, but I think you respected him and after what happened, maybe it would be good if you went to say goodbye. I think he wouldn’t have minded that you were there. He didn’t always like you either, but he admired you at the end. He really was prepared to do anything to make sure you got out of that warehouse and…’

She trailed off and when Julius looked at her, he noticed that she was fighting a losing battle against her tears. It was only then that he noticed how pale she looked, which was in sharp contrast with the dark circles under her eyes. In that same moment he realised that he had been selfish to think that he was the only one who could properly understand what this was like. Amy had a crush on Robert for years, but nothing had ever come of it, although Julius had suspected for years that both of them wanted it. It must be so much harder for her to have him taken away from her before they had been able to tell each other of their feelings.

It left him with a question though. ‘How do you know? That he was prepared to do anything?’ he clarified when she didn’t seem to understand his question.

‘I was on observation,’ she confessed. ‘I was giving Robert directions. Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry that I didn’t do more.’

‘The road was blocked,’ Julius said stiffly, not at all at ease with girls crying in his presence, and certainly not with Amy Hamilton crying in his presence. ‘There was nothing you could have done.’

But he knew how she felt. Pot, kettle, black. He was blaming himself for not doing more too. And in a way it was as if he had found a kindred spirit. Both of them had been there when it happened, although not quite in the same way and both of them, unexpectedly in Julius’s case, liked Robert West.

Suddenly it was crystal clear for Julius where he would be going. ‘You can tell my parents I am not coming after all,’ he said. The last thing he needed now was to be bombed with prejudices against Muggles and Muggle-borns, not now his own perspective had so drastically been changed. ‘You can tell them to bring my black dress robes by though.’ When Amy frowned quizzically, he added irritably: ‘I’ll need them for the funeral.’ Had she not worked that out by herself? He had not made a conscious decision to go, but maybe that was not necessary either. It was something he needed to do, something that was expected of him. If anything, it was the least – and probably the only – thing he could do to repay Robert for what he had sacrificed. He could only hope that it would bring him some of the closure he was yearning for so much.

Amy smiled. It was a small smile, a watery smile too, but a smile all the same. ‘I’ll do that,’ she promised, before she remembered something else. ‘But where will you be staying then?’

‘I’m going back to the flat.’ It seemed the most natural thing to be doing somehow. It was packed with Muggle stuff that had appalled Julius that one night he had been staying there. But it was better than the alternative. It was also the only option he still had left.

‘The flat above Phoebe Simmons’s?’ Amy asked incredulously.

Realising she had misunderstood him, he shook his head. ‘No, our flat,’ he corrected. ‘Are you still staying there?’

Amy shrugged, but then nodded. ‘For the time being. We’re still needed to wrap up the last bits of the operation. Mr Potter wanted us back right away, but Mr Pearce told him he won’t have us back until he’s good and ready. We’re allowed to go home though, but well, the flat’s closer to work and I’m not even sure I’m really ready to go back and…’

‘Good,’ Julius interrupted. He’d never have thought he would say such a thing, but now he found that he meant it.

‘Good?’ Amy asked.

Julius nodded. ‘Good,’ he confirmed. Maybe it was time that the two of them talked. It might be good for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Harry & Harry against Lestrange. Please review?


	28. Harry Pearce V

Harry Pearce frowned at the suspect that was doing his best to out-glare him. He was doing a good job of it too, but then, Rabastan Lestrange was very angry to be questioned by a mere Muggle, even if that Muggle was the Head of Counter-Terrorism. Harry really didn’t want to question the man any more than his suspect wanted him to be there.

After all, the group of Death Eaters that had been responsible for the Manchester debacle and related incidents had been disbanded rather permanently, seeing as most members were dead. Andrew Simmons had literally been beaten to death. The intelligence officer in Harry had been disappointed; Simmons had been inner circle and would have been able to tell them a lot of information. The man in him thought it only right. He himself knew revenge only too well and he had indulged in it himself too often to condemn it.

Dolohov had been killed by a bullet from Ros’s gun, about which the Senior Case Officer was singularly unremorseful. The werewolf known as Fenrir Greyback had been killed when part of the ceiling had collapsed as a result a spell from one of the Aurors. Greyback had been crushed underneath. That had only left Downs and Lestrange. The former was still in the hospital, treated for several wounds made by gunshots. Lestrange had been taken down by a bullet from Adam’s gun, almost at the same time that Zaf had overpowered Downs.

Those were the only two survivors. The other three were dead and the world was well rid of them. Questioning Downs was something they would have to do eventually, although that could not be labelled top priority. He had been nowhere near the inner circle. Lestrange had been close. According to Harry Potter Lestrange and Dolohov had been relatives, although, in his words, it could hardly be any different. All pure-blood families were interrelated, he’d said, because there was not very much choice if their sons and daughters were only allowed to marry other pure-bloods. It didn’t sound like a very healthy practise to the Section Head.

‘I don’t have to tell you anything!’ Lestrange snapped. ‘You’re a filthy Muggle.’

‘That’s right,’ Harry said, taking the Death Eater temporarily by surprise by agreeing with him, which he would not have expected. ‘I am a Muggle and you don’t have to tell me anything, we both know that. It might be wiser to talk to us, though. You see, we already have the evidence we need to get you convicted.’

‘I am not afraid of Azkaban!’ Lestrange spat. ‘I am not ashamed of what I have done.’

The wizard disgusted Harry. He had never been extremely fond of the whole magical community, but some wizards were decidedly better than others. Lestrange was one of the worst, the kind he had been working against in the nineties as well, even though he had never come face to face with any actual Death Eaters then.

He had read the file on Lestrange. The man had gone to Azkaban after the First Wizarding War, when it was still guarded by Dementors. That surely had left its mark on him; there was a glint of madness and paranoia in his eyes. After the Second Wizarding War Dementors had been dismissed as guards of the wizard prison and now it was just an ordinary prison. And Lestrange would find his friends there. Prison was no real punishment for what he’d done. And that was why both Harrys had agreed on something a little different.

‘I am afraid that you won’t be going to Azkaban,’ Harry pointed out, sipping the glass of water in front of him. Pleased he noted that Lestrange’s eyes were fixed on the glass. He hadn’t had anything to drink for a good long while now. Surely he must be thirsty. ‘Seeing as your crimes have mostly harmed Muggles, you will be tried by Muggle law and incarcerated in a Muggle prison. Minister Shacklebolt has asked me to inform you that you have been cast out of wizarding society and your wand has been snapped in half.’ It was the closest he would come to revenge for what had been done. Julius had been unwilling to talk about what he had gone through during his captivity, but he had admitted to being extensively tortured with the Cruciatus Curse. Harry Potter had whispered in his ear that Lestrange was known as one of the wizards who had once tortured an Auror couple into insanity. It was not difficult to piece the rest of the puzzle together by himself.

Lestrange’s eyes widened in what appeared to be shock. ‘You can’t do that!’

‘Why can’t I?’ Harry asked. ‘You can’t go back to your own society, you do not have your wand, you don’t know where you are or even who I am. And I have the entire might of the Ministry of Magic behind me. Don’t play games with me, because I’ll tell you in advance, you can’t win. And I can leave you in this cell for as long as it pleases me, because no one will come for you. I’ll leave you to consider your options in private.’

Lestrange was a tough nut; he didn’t twist as much as a muscle when Harry exited and the door slid shut behind him, leaving the wandless Death Eater to stew his words over. When he arrived in the observation room, Lestrange was still glaring at the door. The camera that was recording his every movement he did not seem to have noticed. But even if he had, there was nothing he could do about it. The thing hung too high for him to reach and he had been deprived of his wand, which meant that he could not blast the thing to pieces if he so pleased.

‘Do you think he’ll take the bait?’ Adam asked.

‘He will,’ Harry said. The water would be too tempting, especially when strategically placed in front of him. The Section Head himself had taken the antidote prior to the thus far fruitless questioning, but Lestrange would feel the benefits of the Veritaserum the drink had been spiked with. ‘He’s thirsty and he has seen that the drink didn’t do anything to me, so he knows it isn’t poisoned.’

‘It’s not reliable for the full hundred percent,’ Harry Potter chimed in. ‘He can use Occlumency against it if he’s aware of the possibility.’

Harry Pearce knew that. In fact, both Mr Potter and Ruth had pointed out the flaws in this plan, but he had silenced them by asking if they by any chance had a better idea. They hadn’t. This was the best way to find out if there were any more accomplices they should be aware of and to find out where the other hideouts had been. If there was any evidence left there, they’d need to find it. The sooner they could get this whole thing over and done with, the happier Harry would be. Give him a decent clash with Al-Qaeda or the FSB any day over this wand-waving nonsense.

‘But he won’t be.’ Ruth wasn’t given to smugness, but she sounded a tad bit too pleased now. The antidote had been her idea, so that Harry could drink from the water as well, without feeling the effects himself. Harry would have to admit that in this case, she had very good reason to feel pleased with her own performance. Now they only needed to wait until Lestrange could no longer resist the temptation of the liquid placed in front of him. It was only a matter of time.

Harry turned to his magical counterpart. ‘What about your leak?’ he questioned. ‘Dawlish? Is he dealt with?’

The Head Auror nodded. ‘He wasn’t acting of his own free will. It looks like they placed him under the Imperius Curse. He was rather in shock when he found out what he had done, but he couldn’t tell us much that we didn’t know already. The Death Eaters deliberately kept him out of the loop, just in case he would somehow break free from the curse or someone would find out what he was doing.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sending him on leave for a couple of weeks and then I’ll transfer him to Magical Law Enforcement. He was a good Auror in his day, but it’s too well-known that he is vulnerable to the Imperius Curse nowadays.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I’m losing too many of my personnel in so short a time.’ Harry would almost say there was regret in his voice. And where Julius was concerned, he could sympathise entirely. Sometimes he really thought he had seen too much death, too much betrayal to go on doing what he did. But then, if he was not doing it, who would? There were candidates enough, he knew, but not candidates he would entrust his life to, never mind the lives of others.

‘We’ll have to wait and see what Lestrange comes up with once he’s taken the potion.’ Adam sounded less than happy about the need to wait, but there was little choice they had, apart from forcing the Veritaserum down his throat, which would surely alarm him and let him put up his mental defences, which would undermine the whole purpose of this ploy.

Ros walked in while they were waiting. She looked like her usual self, but slightly ruffled. ‘Has he confessed yet?’ she demanded.

‘He hasn’t drunk the water,’ Adam reported, never averting his eyes from the screen. ‘But he will.’

Ros nodded.

‘How was Mrs Simmons?’ Harry asked. ‘Anything useful from that end?’

Ros shook her head in disdain. ‘Just a lot of tears. She broke down entirely and I couldn’t get anything useful from her. Bloody waste of time. I don’t think she knew anything anyway.’ The Senior Case Officer seemed frustrated. ‘Simmons’s mother was the same.’

Ruth smiled ruefully. ‘Maybe it would be better if I had gone…’

She trailed off when she found herself on the receiving end of Ros Myers’s best death glare. She was touchy when someone suggested she couldn’t do something, whether that was because she wasn’t trusted after her father’s attempted coup or because she was about as sympathetic as an ice-cube when it came to dealing with people. Both women she had been sent to interview had just lost someone they cared about – whether they were right or wrong in doing so was something people’s opinions might differ on – and Ros was not the best person for the job. But Adam was needed in Thames House, Zaf was babysitting Henry Downs in the hospital, Malcolm and Ruth were no field officers and Jo had gone to the Ministry of Magic to liaise with their officers. In hindsight, it’d been better if Jo went to visit the mother and the wife, but Ros had not made a lot of friends in the Ministry last time. Many thought her rude and unsociable – which might well be true – and had expressed the wish never to see her face again. Given the fact that the feeling was entirely mutual, this was the arrangement they had come to.

But it didn’t really matter; Harry had not expected the women to know anything they didn’t already know. He had hoped for it, but he had not pinned any of his hopes on it. That would have been the foolish thing to do. And they were not interested in any background now. Lysandra Simmons had already filled them in on most of the things they needed to know. There was no real need for any more background, not when Andrew Simmons himself was lying in the mortuary. Harry had a distinct feeling that there were only three people in the whole wide world who mourned his demise. Even after all his years in the Service, it was sometimes odd that even terrorists were mourned for, sometimes even by those who did not support the cause they had died for.

‘Burke got out of the hospital?’ Ros inquired brusquely. She may not say it, but Harry had a lingering suspicion that she had come to care for the arrogant young wizard. He corrected himself on the first point. Julius was no longer arrogant, not after what he had lived through. He seemed to have aged ten years in the span of one single night. Lying in that hospital bed, wearing one of those awful hospital-distributed pyjamas that were standard practise even in the wizarding world, he had been stripped of most of his dignity. His experience had stripped him of his arrogance. Ros’s first assessment of the situation had been spot on: he’d gone completely to pieces over Robert’s death.

‘Amy’s taking him back to the flat,’ he reported. ‘Didn’t want to go home with his parents after all. He’ll be fine, Ros.’

Ros ignored the suggestion that she actually cared about the wizard’s wellbeing and joined Adam to look at the screen. ‘Looks like Darth Vader’s nephew is about to take a gulp of water.’

Adam tried and failed to hide his smile at that rather accurate description of Lestrange’s looks. It was true: the black cloak made one think in that direction, especially given the Death Eaters’ love of masks to go with the costume. That had been the second thing to go, of course, right after the wand.

‘Give him five more minutes. He’ll be off guard then,’ Harry Potter counselled. ‘If you start asking questions right after he’s taken a few swallows, he’ll suspect and use Occlumency against you.’

The other Harry nodded.

‘How are they?’ the head of the Auror Department suddenly asked. ‘Miss Hamilton and Mr Burke?’

 _In shock. In mourning_. ‘They are as well as can be expected under the given circumstances.’ It wasn’t the entire truth, but Harry had a lingering suspicion that Aurors often did not suffer in the way their Muggle counterparts did. Magic in that way was something safe, something that kept the hurt at arm’s length. They did hardly ever do undercover operations; he still recalled the apparent shock on the face of his magical counterpart when he suggested sending someone in undercover with the Death Eaters to find what the hell they were up to instead of passively waiting for them to strike. Must be why their Ministry was so easily taken over then. At any rate, they usually kept the worst aspects of the job away with their magic shields and potions.

MI-5 did not have that luxury. They had to wade through all the murk and come out with their sanity intact. They had to stand by as colleagues died and still had to get on with their jobs. It was something that was completely alien to the wizards, who were protected from hurt by their own stupidity, he often thought, although he had to admit that some actually had a brain on them and used it.

‘If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, please let me know.’ Mr Potter seemed entirely sincere in his offer.

Harry nodded. ‘Send Mr Burke on leave for a few days,’ he advised. ‘He’ll need the time. The same might be true for Miss Hamilton.’

‘She was in love with Robert, I know,’ the Auror said. ‘Poor girl. I had hoped that these things would stop after the war.’ He shook his head. ‘Some things never change, do they?’

Harry Potter may be rather young still, but he seemed much older than he looked. The head of Section D had never spared it much thought, but he was of course aware of some of the things that he had done – he was subscribed to the Daily Prophet after all, for all the good that it seemed to do him. If there was someone who’d know something of what Mr Burke was going through, it’d be Harry Potter. Fortunately not all wizards were idiots.

He didn’t answer though. He still had a suspect to interrogate. ‘I’m going back in,’ he announced.

Harry Potter nodded. ‘Will I be allowed to join you, sir?’

Harry Pearce gave him a nod of his own in response. He supposed the head of the Auror Department had indeed the right to witness the interrogation. He even had him to thank for the idea of locking Lestrange away in a non-magical prison, cut off entirely from the wizarding society. Azkaban would not have been a punishment, but Muggle prison would be.

‘And the Statute of Secrecy?’ he has asked when the other Harry had first explained his idea. ‘Don’t you think he’ll run to his fellow inmates to bleat around that he is a wizard?’ It was the one flaw in the plan, especially given how fond the wizards were of their secrecy.

‘They’re Muggles,’ Harry Potter had shrugged. ‘He won’t deem them worthy of his attention. And even if he does tell them, he won’t have his wand and therefore no way to prove his claims. They’ll believe him to be stark raving mad, might even send him to a mental institution.’ Harry Pearce had enjoyed the mental picture that had left him with very unprofessional glee. Julius Burke had for all intents and purposes been one of his officers when he had been taken and no one touched Harry’s team and got away with it, not even a wand-waving weirdo.

Rabastan Lestrange was still sitting in his chair when they entered, staring into the distance. He barely acknowledged their arrival; he looked at the door, but did not seem to actually see it. Harry imagined that would be a sign that the potion worked – he was immensely grateful that the antidote had done its work; he’d hate to be seen like that – and that, for the moment, the suspect was not as in control of his own mind as he would like and want. Harry couldn’t bring himself to care about that. All he wanted were answers.

‘Let’s get back to where we left off,’ Harry invited. ‘Are there any accomplices that were not with you in the warehouse?’

‘There were.’ The answer was almost immediate. ‘Three Muggles, that we put under the Imperius Curse. Three wizards too…’

Lestrange droned on. The look in his eyes told Harry that he was only now realising what was happening to him, but he seemed to be entirely unable to stop himself from blurting out every last detail of every last plan he knew about. Of course Lestrange had been inner circle, if not the leader of the Death Eaters, and therefore he knew most of the plans. Even under the influence of the truth serum he did not seem ashamed of what he had done. Instead he seemed under the impression that what he had done was necessary, to cleanse Britain of Muggles and Muggle-borns that formed a plague, a stain on a good pure-blood society. It disgusted Harry.

‘It’s like Hitler all over again,’ he sighed wearily when he exited the interrogation room with all the information they wanted and needed to put an end to the last of the group and its followers. Harry experienced the feeling he often had after a long and taxing operation: a sense of despair – would it ever really end? – and a desperate need for whisky. But it was over and for now, that was enough to be getting on with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a funeral and a drastic decision. Just one chapter and an epilogue left now.  
> Please review?


	29. Amy Hamilton IV

The sun was shining. In a strange way it both did and didn’t fit the occasion, Amy pondered as she walked into the graveyard of Mould-on-the-Wold, one of the half magical villages of England and the village Robert came from. On one hand it seemed terribly inappropriate that it was such a beautiful day when it was such a tragic occasion that had brought them here, but on the other hand it seemed to fit with the person Robert had been. His temper may always have been close to snapping, especially when Julius was around, but Amy mainly remembered him as the charming guy with the easy smile and he would have loved the sunshine on his face.

But he wasn’t here to enjoy that anymore, because he was lying in that coffin, about to be laid into a grave, never to see the sun again. It left her with a sense of loss, of hurt and pain. But regret was dominant. She’d loved him since Hogwarts and never once had she plucked up the courage to tell him how she felt. And now it didn’t matter anymore. He was gone and that was the end of it. Death was definite, nothing she could change anything about. Regret, she decided, was definitely the worst thing one could feel.

Despite the fact that Robert’s parents had asked for a small funeral, with only family and close friends in attendance, it was rather crowded. Most of the people here were Robert’s family, Amy supposed. There were people who bore some resemblance to Robert, but she mainly knew because of the number of Muggles. Robert had once mentioned to her that he had quite an extended family on his mother’s side, the Muggle side, and that became apparent now. She recognised a lot of her own colleagues from the Auror Department too.

Section D had come as well, even Ros, whom Amy had previously suspected of not having any feelings at all, never mind that she was capable of mourning. But here she was, clearly in the right mood for the funeral, not that she had a sunny disposition to start with. As far as the witch was aware, she had not even liked Robert, but here she was. Even Zaf, who had been thoroughly fed up with Robert’s manners, seemed sad. His last action had left them all unable to think badly of him, she observed sadly.

She herself still remembered that night. She heard the barely controlled panic in his voice as he spoke to her. ‘Control, the road is blocked.’ It was the last thing he had ever said and it filled her with sadness all over again that she had not truly acknowledged his fear. Instead she had started to rap new directions into his ear, not aware that he was not listening anymore.

When she had realised that he was not paying attention, because he did not respond in any way, she had heard shouting. ‘You really thought you could get away?’ The sound of that voice that she did not recognise, but that she knew did not belong to someone they could trust, had sent chills down her spine.

‘Robert, get out of there!’ she had shouted.

No one had replied. Instead she had heard the worst of the three Unforgiveable Curses shouted and then a lot of undefined noise. She had been forced to take off the headphones if she didn’t want to get deaf. When she put them on again, the comms were down.

Somehow she had known. Of course, there were many interpretations of the situation possible and it didn’t have to mean what she thought it did, but she had known all the same. And so had Ruth and Malcolm. The three of them had looked at one another with pure defeat written all over their faces. They had lost contact with Ros first and now Robert was gone as well. And surely Julius could not last long on his own in his current condition. In that moment Amy Hamilton had finally understood what true and unadulterated despair felt like.

They had been lucky though. Both Ros and Julius turned out to be alive and relatively well. But Robert was dead, killed while she had only been able to sit in Thames House, listening to the events unfolding, but unable to do anything about anything at all. It made her feel so powerless, so angry at the world. It made her want to shout and kick things.

But Amy Hamilton didn’t do that. She was known as the one who may be nervous in crisis situations, but she never really lost control of herself. She kept a clear head. She didn’t give in to anger, especially when it would not achieve anything.

And there were more ways of coping than destroying Service property, and strangely enough it was Robert himself who had helped her to find it. For a little over five minutes she had heard him speaking words of encouragement to Julius, who had been so badly affected by his ordeal that he barely seemed to respond to anything at all. The care in Robert’s voice had been unmistakable; for whatever reason he had drastically changed his opinion about the Slytherin and if he could, well, then so could Amy. And so she had picked up where Robert had been forced to let off: by looking after Julius.

She had visited him in hospital every day. She had been reluctant that first time. They had never been friends, there was no telling if he would even welcome her presence, but it seemed the right thing to do, even if Julius himself was not in the mood to talk and he snapped at her the few times he would be persuaded to talk at all.

Somehow she managed to bear it, maybe only because she knew that was what Robert – the new, changed Robert – would have wanted her to do, but also because the moment she stepped foot over the threshold, she could no longer harbour any anger or resentment against him. Julius didn’t look as if he had seen a ghost, but rather like he had become one himself. He was like a shadow of his former self, and she had felt something she had never imagined she could feel for one such as Julius “Caesar” Burke: pity. He didn’t even object to her being there, not really. He was just lashing out. And he had not insulted her, had not made snappy remarks about her Muggle heritage and he had seemed to appreciate Ros’s visit, who was a Muggle herself after all. On a deeper level, Julius Burke had changed.

The truth of that became all the more apparent when he refused to accompany his parents, just after he had learned how they had treated Amy. And now he was walking next to her without as much of a word of protest, staring at the coffin with what appeared to be tears in his eyes. She didn’t look long enough to make sure though; it felt too much like prying.

Nothing even suggested that he had been recently tortured at all. All marks had been taken care of by the Healers’ good care. He looked as he had before he had gone undercover. The only thing that had changed was his attitude. Before this operation, Julius’s arrogance preceded him into every room he entered, but he was much more humble and thoughtful now. He had even talked with her, which had been a surprise. Last night they had stayed up late and talked deep into the night. They avoided the subject of the operation like the dragon plague and instead they had talked about Robert. Well, Amy had done most of the talking, since she was the one with the most positive memories about him. It had been a relief to get it all off her chest and Julius seemed to be willing to listen to her rambling. He had not contributed much, just expressed his regret at not having taken the time to know him better.

‘He wouldn’t have wanted you to,’ Amy recalled saying. ‘He didn’t like you, you know, not until he saw the video.’ She had been staring at her tea when she said that, not wanting to see how he reacted to that announcement. ‘I think that was the moment he realised you weren’t who he thought you were.’ A small smile tugged at her lips, even if it felt disrespectful and inappropriate. ‘That was Robert for you. He needed something drastic to make him see sense. I think he really admired you for what you did, in the end.’

‘The feeling is mutual,’ Julius had said. Coming from him, that was high praise indeed.

They had slept in the living room, Amy on the couch and Julius in the comfy chair, neither of them really wanting to be alone yet. It was only when she woke up in the morning that she realised that her flatmate had put a blanket over her. He was definitely changing. He was changing so drastically that Amy found it frightening. Was that something mourning did to a person? She couldn’t really tell. But she was not really an exception, was she? Before Robert’s death she would never have taken the time to talk to Julius of her own volition, not after having stayed well out of his way for years. If only Robert could see the things he’d set in motion, she pondered as she looked out over the graveyard. But then, if he was here to see it, those things would never have happened.

They kept to the back a bit. Part of Amy felt uncomfortable being here and it would seem that the same was true for Julius. And so they tried to remain unnoticed. The Auror Department was not as secretive as MI-5 and so the family had been told that Robert had died in the line of duty, something that sounded altogether harsh and unfeeling to Amy. It didn’t do the real events justice by a long way. And they were unlikely to ever really know what had happened. They were just left to deal with the result.

‘How are you holding up?’ Julius asked. The concern in his voice didn’t suit him at all. It almost felt like he was trying to look after her in Robert’s stead, just as she was trying to do the same for him. It didn’t make any sense.

‘Fine,’ she said. It was only half a lie. ‘As well as anyone, I suppose. You?’

She got a curt nod for her troubles. ‘Angry,’ he replied. He looked over his shoulder at something Amy had not yet noticed. ‘Can’t they at least respect the family’s mourning or does that too have to be splashed over tomorrow’s front page?’

Amy swivelled around and noticed the press. Rita Skeeter wasn’t there anymore – the only thing she would be writing articles about for the next couple of years was daily life in Azkaban – but there were more than enough reporters to take her place apparently, and they had brought a bunch of photographers with them. _Daily Prophet_ was here and so was the _Witch Weekly_ , probably for the best gossip about the Auror Department. It made Amy’s blood approach boiling point as well.

‘Vultures,’ she growled. ‘The lot of them.’ Coming to feast on other people’s grief.

They’d been doing it for the past four days. Rita Skeeter had really set something in motion when she revealed the cooperation between Muggles and Aurors. The press had a field day. They had been hanging about St Mungo’s and the Ministry, bombarding her with questions if she showed her face at either. None of those reporters seemed to get the tragedy of it all, the horrible loss of life.

Even her own Auror colleagues didn’t seem to really understand. All they did was trying to wrap her in cotton wool, whilst avoiding all mention of Robert as if it would make her break down on the spot. It was almost a relief to retreat into Thames House and write the reports that were still outstanding. No mollycoddling from Harry Pearce and Adam Carter at least, that was for sure. Malcolm offered her tea and a listening ear if she needed it and Ruth had seconded that. For some reason she felt at ease there. People at least weren’t walking on eggshells or treating her like a porcelain doll.

Harry Pearce had heard her. He turned around too and unleashed a look of pure fury on the reporters. ‘I’ll deal with them,’ he said.

Julius threw an incredulous look at his retreating back. ‘Do you think they’ll listen to a Muggle?’ He didn’t seem to believe it possible. No matter the changes he’d gone through, the Muggle prejudice was not all gone. In a way it was reassuring that even though the world had been turned upside down, some things didn’t change.

‘Mr Pearce has dealt with Rita Skeeter,’ she informed him. ‘He can deal with these ones.’ When she saw Julius’s not understanding look, she added: ‘He had her sent to Azkaban, with some help from Mrs Weasley. She won’t be bothering us, ever again.’

Julius took it all in his stride. At any rate he didn’t offer any more comments. That too had changed. Maybe he was just too caught up in his own world to care about much else, reporters and Mr Pearce included. The coffin had been lowered into the grave now and people were starting to leave.

‘Let’s go,’ Amy told him. They had been hanging in the back all the time and she wanted to say goodbye properly. It felt only right. Something told her it would be good for the Slytherin to do the same. ‘Our turn now.’

Only Robert’s close family lingered when they came to the freshly dug grave. Amy had never really met them, but she recognised them from the photographs Robert kept on his desk in the Auror Department. His father, looking like she imagined how Robert would have looked if he would have lived to be that age, was holding his mother, a fragile woman of about fifty years old. She looked on the verge of collapse. Amy recognised Robert’s younger siblings from Hogwarts. They had been some years below her. Tony was a Gryffindor like Robert, but Jane was a Ravenclaw, like her. Both of them must have come home from school for the funeral.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she told the mother, not knowing what else to say. ‘He will be greatly missed.’

Julius seemed to have turned into a statue next to her. He wasn’t looking at the family, but rather at the coffin in the grave. Amy let him. If that was what he needed to make his peace with Robert, then that was what he must do. She could not even try to imagine what it must be like for him. The first few days she had been too blinded by her own hurt and her own methods of surviving with her sanity intact to wonder about that. It was only after last night’s conversation that she had started to think about it.

It was hard to wrap her head around the events anyway. She couldn’t fathom why Robert had done what he had done. Yes, he cared, but did he truly care enough to make that ultimate sacrifice? Or had it just been a reflex, something that went without thinking, like almost everything Robert had done? They were never going to get the answers now.

For Julius it must be stranger still. Being true to their respective Houses, they had been rivals since they had first met, rivals and almost enemies. How must it feel to have such a person let himself be killed in your stead? How did Julius deal with that? A more frightening thought crept into her head: _did_ he deal with this at all? As pleasant as the changes were in his behaviour, they were also rather alarming.

Robert’s mother nodded. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled a watery smile. ‘You are Amy Hamilton, are you not?’ When she nodded, she said: ‘He talked about you a lot. He really respected you and how you handled yourself in his world.’

Amy nodded, finding it hard to talk all of a sudden. Talking about Robert with Julius had been almost too easy, maybe because both of them had been there, in some way, when he passed. Speaking about him to his mother was different and much harder. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Maybe she ought to be saying something comforting, something about Robert having said something nice about his mother in her hearing, but she drew a blank when she called upon her memory for it.

‘What are _you_ doing here?’ She was distracted by Tony. It seemed that he had only now realised that she had not come on her own. He had recognised Julius from Hogwarts and was of course aware of the rivalry between his brother and the most arrogant Slytherin to have ever strutted around the castle, as Robert had once so eloquently phrased it. ‘That’s Julius Burke,’ he told his parents with all the anger of a sixteen year old who had lost the brother he so looked up to. ‘Come to gloat, have you?’ he sneered.

Julius turned to him. ‘I have come to pay my respects, same as everyone else.’ Two weeks ago he might have reacted with a sarcastic put-down. He wasn’t doing so now.

Tony snorted, finding an outlet for his own grief in snapping at someone Robert had disliked for most of his life. ‘And I am supposed to believe that?’

‘Tony…’ his mother said in a warning tone of voice, but her son paid her no heed at all.

‘You never wasted an opportunity to bully him and now that he is dead you suddenly go all weepy about him?’ The teenager had one of his hands clenched into fists; the other was creeping ever closer to the pocket in which he must have hidden away his wand.

‘Your brother and I were never on good terms while he was still alive,’ Julius admitted and Amy inwardly groaned. He was not exactly making this easier on himself. And Tony was about to launch into another tirade, but Julius was quicker. ‘Not to the very last. My bosses don’t want you to know this, but you have a right to.’ He swallowed. ‘Four nights ago, we got ourselves into a fight with the last remaining Death Eaters. They… they had taken me prisoner. When they came for me, I was not entirely conscious anymore, but I do remember that it was Robert who got me out and encouraged me to keep going.’ Amy wondered if she was the only one who noticed his hands balled into fists as he relayed the tale. ‘He managed to get us out, but we were followed. The Death Eater threw the Killing Curse at me, but Robert knocked me out of the way…’

‘And was hit by the curse himself,’ Robert’s father finished. His wife whimpered.

Julius nodded. ‘I am only still alive because of him. I owe him my life.’ It was quite something to hear him say that. In fact, Amy had to pinch her own arm in order to convince herself that this was not just a very bizarre dream.

Tony had been struck dumb, and so were his parents. Jane merely let out another sob. It was a shocking thing to hear, Amy supposed. She knew what had happened, but even she found it hard to listen to. It was not something one wanted to hear, but maybe it was necessary. And Tony was in the wrong here. His temper was even more inflammable than Robert’s had been, and he had spoken in anger. He had been very wrong to do that and Julius was right to defend himself, even if it was a shock to Robert’s family. But, like Julius said, they had a right to know.

‘We should go,’ she heard herself say. It would be delightful if the ground would open up and swallow her before this could get any more embarrassing or hurting. She’d be lying if she said that she didn’t find it painful to hear.

Julius nodded. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’ He turned abruptly and marched away, forcing Amy to all but run after him. And after what had happened, she was desperate to leave as well. She had said her goodbye and now it was time to go on, even if she had to run after Julius to do so. But Merlin, she’d miss Robert. She’d miss his easy charm in the Auror Department. But somehow it made things easier to know that this was his own choice. Easier, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t miss him terribly. At one point she’d even wished that Robert had lived and Julius had died, but she’d squashed the thought. It was a vile thing to think and Julius did not deserve it. Besides, it didn’t matter what she wanted, what she wished. It had already happened and every child in school knew that no magic could bring back the dead, and meddling with time was a dangerous thing indeed. She didn’t dare to take the risk.

She caught up with Julius near the gate that led back to the street, catching sight of the reporters a little too late. Harry Pearce had evidently been able to make them retreat from the graveyard itself, but they were lingering outside the gates still, looking every bit the vultures she had compared them with, preying on other people’s sorrow.

‘Miss Hamilton, Mr Burke!’ A young woman, the type Ros Myers would unkindly but very accurately describe as a silly cow, practically threw herself at Amy. ‘Won’t you give us an interview? I’m sure the public would love to know how you experience this terrible time.’

She backed off when she noticed something behind the witch and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw Julius, still in the clutches of anger, glaring down at the reporter. He was usually an impressive figure, but he was even more so when he was angry and holding his wand as if it was a knife he wanted to stab people with. ‘You are right,’ he said icily. ‘We won’t.’

‘But…’ the reporter protested.

In hindsight she couldn’t say where the anger came from so suddenly. Maybe she had all been holding it in for far too long and now it boiled over. Maybe it was the sight of that badge that proclaimed the woman a reporter for the _Daily Prophet_ that was the trigger, but she didn’t know for sure. All she knew was that she was suddenly angrier than she had been in a good many years. ‘It was your bloody newspaper that started all this mess to begin with!’ she exploded. ‘It is your fault that he is dead! Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage? Do you want to do some more or can you for once, for Merlin’s sake, just leave us bloody well alone!’

She stormed off, her vision blurred by tears. She wasn’t even sure where she was going, as long as it was away from the graveyard and the endless nagging of the reporters. Lately all her life seemed to be turning into a nightmare. She had lost someone she cared about greatly, she was being chased by reporters and it even felt like she didn’t belong in the one place she had fought so hard to be. In the last few days, the only place she had felt at ease was…

She stopped in the middle of the road when the idea hit her. A car honked at her and she stepped out of the way almost as if she was in a trance. There was no telling where the idea had come from. It just was there and it seemed the right thing to do after everything that had happened.

‘Hamilton!’ The shout came from behind her. She turned when she recognised Julius’s voice. ‘Do you have a death wish, running into the road like that?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I…’ She took a deep breath. ‘We need to get a drink.’

The confusion was obvious in the wizard’s eyes. ‘Hamilton, you are upset, but _that_ is not the way to do this.’ He still called her by her surname, but there was some concern as well. She’d almost wish there wasn’t, because if that was the case, it would mean that none of this had happened. But it had and here they were. And she had thought of the best solution there was for this matter.

‘That’s not what I meant.’ The longer she thought about it, the more logical it seemed to her,  and all the stranger it seemed that she had not thought about it sooner. ‘We need to talk. And maybe it’s the best to do that over a drink.’ Why was she including Julius in this? Why was she even thinking that he would not laugh in her face at the mere notion? The answer presented itself right after the question. _Because he needs this too._

‘I’ve been here before,’ the Slytherin said. ‘There’s a magical café not far from here. I could use a butterbeer.’

Butterbeer sounded just about right. She’d need some courage before she laid this idea on the table. Because what she was planning was not Ravenclaw at all. Ravenclaws didn’t act on impulse. They thought everything through, to the extremes, and it was not like her at all to not act like that. And it was certainly nowhere near Slytherin or Hufflepuff either. It was Gryffindor, through and through.

But then, hadn’t they all changed, all three of them? Robert had managed to set aside lifelong prejudices and had given his own life to save Julius, the one he had considered an enemy since first year at Hogwarts. His death in turn had made Julius change. He’d been civil to the spooks and had talked normally with her. He’d even decided to go to the flat with her instead of going home to his family after he had heard the prejudices they still harboured. If that was not one enormous change of heart, then she didn’t know what was. And now perhaps it was time for her to do something she’d otherwise never have done at all. Not one of them came out the same after Operation Wandless, she supposed. One of them had not come out of it at all. Wasn’t that the reason why she was all but dragging Julius Burke, of all people, with her to a café to tell him of a plan that was so Gryffindor that she could hardly believe that she was the one who had thought it up?

‘Good afternoon,’ the barmaid greeted when they entered. ‘Anything I can get you, dears? We’ve got…’ She fell silent when she recognised their faces and instead of welcoming, her facial expression turned to a mixture of curiosity and sympathy in the blink of an eye. ‘Oh. You must be…’

Amy gritted her teeth. ‘We’d like two butterbeers, please.’ She had been getting these looks for days and she was tired of them. Could people not just leave them alone and mind their own business instead of sticking their noses in affairs that did not concern them at all? She silently cursed Rita Skeeter and her dirty tricks for starting all this off. The only consolation she had was that Harry Pearce was of the same mind and that he was determined to make her answer for her not so insignificant part in all the drama in court, Muggle court if he couldn’t get it through magical law, and Statute of Secrecy be damned.

‘Take a seat. I will bring it to you as soon as possible.’ The woman smiled kindly, yet it grated on Amy’s every nerve. ‘I am ever so sorry for your loss.’

That did it. ‘Yes, I suppose you read all about it in your morning paper,’ she snapped, marching off again before she could really lose her temper or burst into tears, either one. Her nerves were frayed, rubbed raw by days of treatment like this. It was as if she had caught some kind of disease. Either people were overly sympathetic to her or they pretended they hadn’t noticed her because they didn’t know what to say. Everyone just danced around the subject and it frustrated her to absolutely no end. Wasn’t that most of the reason for even being here?

‘Hamilton?’ Julius seemed wary now, probably afraid she would explode, either into tears or anger. Nevertheless he took the seat opposite her, carrying the butterbeer himself. He pushed one of the glasses into her direction.

‘I’m fine,’ she muttered, furious with herself for losing control like that. It was not like her. She was the one who kept a cool head, for Merlin’s sake! She was not the weepy type, nor was she given to temper tantrums in public. That had always been Robert’s prerogative. ‘Thank you for the butterbeer.’

Julius narrowed his eyes at her. ‘What is all that about?’ he demanded.

‘I’m tired of the way people are treating me,’ she explained. ‘I hadn’t realised how much it affected the whole wizarding society when I was still at Thames House. But there were reporters everywhere when I came at St Mungo’s first thing Saturday morning. They either wanted to know what had happened to Robert and you or they wanted me to comment on the whole matter of cooperation with MI-5. Some wanted me to approve, others wanted me to condemn it.’ She took a long swallow of her beer. It didn’t help as much as she had hoped. ‘Then news got out that Robert had died in a fight with Death Eaters. Then the whole sympathy offensive began. And it’s everywhere, even in the Auror Department.’ She slammed her glass on the table with more force than was strictly necessary. ‘I can’t quite explain it, but everyone is being so foolish about it. It’s like they just don’t know what to do with it. Some go out of their way to be kind. Auror Weasley even brought tea to my desk, if you’ll believe it. Others don’t know what to do with it either, so they ignore it like the plague.’ She sighed. ‘I’m just so tired of it all. And then just now, I got thinking. I really just need a break from all this madness.’

‘You mean to give up career as an Auror?’ Julius sounded shocked now.

‘In a way,’ Amy nodded. A small voice in the back of her head told her that this was _not_ a good idea, but she pressed on all the same. She’d made up her mind. ‘To be honest, I never liked it there, not really. I think I liked the idea of being an Auror, the idea of what I’d be able to do once I’d completed my training and people would stop looking at me as though I was the weakest link in the team. I felt so useless there. Didn’t you feel like that at times, like you weren’t wanted there at all?’

She knew the answer to that. As a Slytherin, especially with his views, he’d had to fight for every day he spent at Headquarters. Even though he hunted Death Eaters with a passion and had no one in his family who had been a Death Eater, people always looked at him as if he was one. Amy herself had on occasion been guilty of doing that, of wondering whether he really was who he claimed to be. Of course there was not a single doubt about that now, not anymore.

True to expectations, Julius nodded. ‘Of course.’ The old Julius would definitely not have said such a thing. He’d pretend that none of those malicious whispers and stares could hurt him, even if they so obviously did. ‘But what would you do? Just give up?’

She shook her head. _Now for the hardest part_. ‘Not exactly. I just thought I’d change location. Transfer to MI-5, if they’ll have me.’ Julius’s expression of pure shock set off another rambling session. ‘I mean, I actually felt as if me being there had value. I was contributing something to the operation. And I know it was bad and that everything went so horribly wrong, but I don’t think that Section D’s fault, do you? It was that horrible Skeeter woman who ruined everything. And it feels good being there, like I actually belong somewhere. Oh Merlin, I suppose that does make me sound like a Muggle.’

Julius’s shock had not subsided, not in the slightest. ‘You’d do that?’ he asked incredulously. ‘You’d give up your magic, just like that, and live like a Muggle again?’

Amy imagined that to him that must sound like the worst prospect imaginable, but that was not quite what she had meant, not at all. But she had started to prattle on and had therefore forgotten to mention the most important part of the idea. ‘No, not at all!’ she hurried to say. ‘I merely meant to work there, magic and all. All this talk about cooperation made me think, you know. Mr Pearce said they worked together during both the wars and now again. Our worlds overlap so often that I think it’s ridiculous we don’t cooperate more often. Knowing our government, that’s not going to happen anytime soon, so maybe MI-5 needs a few wizards on their team to help out in those cases. And who knows, in the meantime we can help keeping Muggle Britain safe as well.’

The longer she thought about it all, the more sense it started to make to her. She had something real to add to Section D, something unique, that no one else had. In Section D nobody cared about her blood status or the House she had been in at school. The Muggles merely cared about her doing her job. And she was sure that the same was true for Julius. He hadn’t gone off to a great start, but no one had faulted his work that she knew of. In fact, she may even have overheard Ros Myers admitting, reluctantly mind, that he had potential. Then surely this could work out? And it was not as if the Statute of Secrecy was in any danger of violation; the spooks already knew. Ros and Ruth had even been to the Ministry.

She only realised her enthusiasm had made her careless with her words, again, when Julius frowned at her. ‘ _We_?’ he questioned sharply.

Uh oh. _Well, no going back from that now, girl_. She shrugged, trying and failing to suppress a blush of embarrassment. ‘Why not? You did really, really well there. And I think you liked it, doing something that really meant something. Not that I think you liked being captured and all that,’ she quickly added before he could misinterpret her words. ‘Would you really want to go back to Auror Headquarters, back to how things were? I know I don’t.’ _And you’d like him to come, too, you big coward._ She didn’t say that however  and so she merely shrugged again. ‘We’d just start over again. It’s only an added bonus that in the Muggle world not everyone knows who we are right now.’ She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the mere memory.

Amy braced herself for an argument. She was fully aware that she had not really been making a strong or even a very coherent case. Merlin knew that she wasn’t even sure why she was dragging Julius into this, other than that undefined feeling that it might be good for him. But Julius was a pure-blood wizard, who until very recently had absolutely despised Muggles, never mind that he’d work with them of his own free will. If she was going to win this fight, they might be here till midnight.

And that was probably why his reaction took her by surprise. ‘If I did that, do you think Mr Pearce would take us on?’

She nodded, still a bit taken aback. It was the mental equivalent of banging full force on a door one expected to be locked, only to stumble over the threshold when it turned out the door was not locked at all. ‘I think so.’ She looked at him intently. ‘You’re not going to protest?’

The Slytherin looked at the last remnants of butterbeer in his glass intently. ‘It’s as you said, we could start over again.’ He looked up then. ‘I am willing to give it a try.’ _Anything after this hell_. She heard what he wasn’t saying. ‘It doesn’t mean that I’ll do it for the rest of my life, mind.’

Amy could feel a smile tugging at her lips. She reprimanded herself for even thinking of smiling on a day like this. But then, would Robert have minded? He was usually quick to laugh, had been quick to laugh before Operation Wandless, as she had privately dubbed it, had been launched. ‘You’re not afraid of what magical society might say?’ This was surely turning out to be a very strange day. Not an hour ago she had been standing at Robert’s grave, mourning his passing, now she was planning the future, and apparently not just her own.

‘And that would be any different from how they are already looking at me, how exactly?’ he drawled. It was something of the old, arrogant Julius Caesar returning. Who’d have thought that one day she’d be glad of that?

She raised her glass, even though there was hardly anything left at all. ‘Well then,’ she said hesitantly, wondering if she wasn’t pushing her luck too far too soon. ‘Here’s to starting again.’

Julius didn’t repeat her words, but he went with her toast. A very strange day, she couldn’t help but think. A very strange day indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue left now, but there’s a sequel already in the planning stages.   
> Please review?


	30. Epilogue

Chapter 30

Epilogue

 

** Three years later **

It was the noise of something very loud that dragged Julius Burke back to the waking world long before he felt ready to do so. He actually had no idea what time it was, but whatever it was, it was far too early to rise. And he rather thought he had deserved to have a bit of a lie-in today. He didn’t have to work for once, so why in Merlin’s name had he even set the alarm clock?

The best course of action would be to put it off and go back to sleep, and to that end he lifted one arm above the blanket, blindly aiming a few hits at the alarm clock he knew there to be on the bedside drawer. A few hits at the offending object failed to produce the desired effect though and Julius’s head joined his arm above the sheets.

It was only when he stared bleary-eyed at the clock that he realised that this noise was in fact not at all like the noise it should be making. Come to think of it, this sounded more like his mobile phone than the alarm, but of course he hadn’t been able to tell the two apart in his sleepy state of mind.

He grabbed the device and rolled onto his back as he answered it. ‘Burke.’ It didn’t sound very friendly, but he didn’t think he had to be at eight thirty when he had a day off work for a change.

‘Myers.’ The response was equally curt and also very unexpected.

Julius frowned at the ceiling. ‘Ros? Why in the name of Merlin’s stinking beard…?’

He didn’t get the chance to finish that question. Not that he needed to; she’d understand him perfectly anyway. ‘Red flash,’ she explained, although, come to think of it, this really was not much of an explanation at all. He still didn’t know what was going on.

He rubbed his forehead, hoping that would help the process of regaining consciousness along. ‘You can’t be serious,’ he moaned.

Ros clearly did not appreciate his lamentation. ‘Do I sound like I am joking?’

He would be forced to admit that it surely didn’t sound like that, not at all. After all, since when had Ros Myers gone into the business of telling jokes? Unless that had happened overnight, Julius didn’t get his hopes up. It didn’t mean he had to like this. ‘Ros, I just got married yesterday!’ he protested. He threw a glance at his bride, whose only response to the noise had been to hide her head under the pillow to drown out the sound. Julius found that he envied her. If only he could be so lucky.

As it was, Ros clearly wasn’t very sorry for disturbing him. ‘Diddums,’ she said unsympathetically. ‘You’re not getting married today. I need you over here. Both of you.’

Julius groaned his dislike of getting out of bed already into the phone. ‘Can’t you do it yourself?’ he tried. ‘Or Lucas, or Jo, or…?’

‘The Thames House shrink?’ Ros supplied sarcastically. ‘This is non-negotiable, Julius. Get over here, fast as you can.’

There really was not much use in protesting when she was talking like that. He had worked in Section D long enough to know by now and it had only gotten worse when Ros got promoted to Section Chief after Adam’s death. Now she was actually in charge. Julius still wasn’t sure Harry had made the right choice in doing that. But then, Ros was a good boss. It was only today that he didn’t appreciate her work-comes-before-anything-else-attitude.

He gave his new wife a gentle shove, knowing that she was already awake anyway. ‘Get up. The boss wants us on the Grid as fast as we can.’

Amy’s response wasn’t much more enthusiastic than his own had been. ‘Sod her.’ Seeing as it came from under a pillow, it sounded rather muffled.

‘I tried that already,’ he drawled. ‘She didn’t budge and I can’t hex her over a phone line. I’ll need to go to Thames House to do that.’

‘Shame.’ A face appeared from under the pillow. Amy’s hair stood out to all sides, making her look rather comical. ‘I don’t suppose I’m allowed a shower before we pop out?’ There was a distinct lack of protest from her mouth, which led Julius to believe that she didn’t think it so bad after all. Oh well, what had he expected? She loved her job. In fact, he might even go as far as to say that she was a bit too enthusiastic about it. At times he had trouble getting her to talk about something else. They’d made a deal about the wedding though: she wasn’t to talk, think or fret over any aspect of the job. She’d smiled a bit sheepish when in answer to her question if she really was that bad, all of the section had replied with an immediate yes.

‘You shower, I make breakfast?’ he offered.

Amy’s eyes all but popped out of their sockets. ‘You can cook?’

He feigned indignation. ‘I can boil an egg,’ he informed her with every appearance of boredom.

Amy threw herself back against the pillow. ‘Then Merlin help us all.’

Julius took a deep breath and forced himself to get out of bed this instant, before he changed his mind again and followed Amy’s proud example of burying his head under his pillow as well. ‘Fifteen minutes,’ he informed her.

‘If you boil the egg that long, you might as well use it as a bullet for all the effect it will have!’ she yelled after him.

‘I’m saving it for Miss Myers,’ he retorted. He thought he had done a good job of getting his brain back in gear, but he was still a bit clumsy with sleep and exactly how clumsy became apparent when he tripped over one of his own shoes – what were his shoes doing in the middle of the hallway anyway? – and stumbled rather than walked into the kitchen. Thank Merlin that his wand was still there; at least that meant that he could do most of the cooking by magic. He may spend the majority of his time in the Muggle world nowadays, but that didn’t mean he had to do everything the Muggle way.

He wondered about life these days as he waited for the water to boil. It was for certain that he had come a long way from the arrogant wizard who put itching powder in his rival’s robes by way of a prank. He cringed inwardly when he remembered just how foolish and ignorant he had really been. It had taken Robert’s death to really open his eyes and see. It was not something he was particular proud of.

After Operation Wandless, as it had been named, he had found himself in a world he no longer fully understood. Everything he had taken for granted, everything he had previously thought and believed, it had been turned upside down, leaving him with very little certainties and a desperate wish to have, as Amy phrased it, a break from all the madness. The press dogging his footsteps did not help very much either.

Amy’s proposition about working for MI-5 had been rather drastic, he admitted, and if he had not been so thrown off balance as he had been, he would never have agreed to it. But the funeral had made an impact and so had Robert’s little brother and Julius remembered wanting to get away from the wizarding world for a while. Going into the Muggle world had not been his option of choice – sitting at home with doors and windows boarded was more what he’d had in mind – but really, anything was welcome at that point. True enough, if they hadn’t been in the place they had been then, they would not have done such a reckless and rash thing at all, he supposed. But desperate times sometimes required desperate measures.

He had meant for it to be temporary, though, just until he was back on his feet, to have a little distance from the society he’d grown up in until the dust had settled and he could visit the Ministry and Diagon Alley without having people whisper behind his back and stare at him as if he was some monkey to look at in the zoo.

Mr Potter had been slightly sceptic about the temporary nature of both their absence and he wasn’t very happy to let them go. Julius was sure that Amy really meant to make a career with MI-5 and had no plans to return to Auror Headquarters at all, but that did not apply to him. Mr Potter’s scepticism about his return had been entirely unfounded, he’d thought.

In hindsight though he wondered if his previous boss had not been much more perceptive than he had been. Section D had drawn him in and he found that to his surprise he enjoyed the work. For the first time he really had the feeling that he was making a difference, that he was contributing something valuable. His magic was a real asset in catching terrorists and finding out what they were up to. Yes, the work was taxing, especially emotionally at times, so much more intense than it had been in the Ministry of Magic, but he felt at home. Before long he found himself thinking up excuses to delay his return to the Auror Department, which he kept up until Zaf, with one of his big smiles, asked him when he was going to make his definite transfer official.

‘I’d stop boiling that egg now if I were you,’ Amy commented when she walked into the kitchen, towelling her hair dry. ‘Unless you meant it. About using it on Ros’s head for a weapon, I mean.’

‘Harry would probably sack me if I injured his Section Chief,’ he retorted.

‘True enough,’ she allowed, pointing her wand at the kitchen cupboard so that the table set itself. ‘Any idea what is going on there?’

‘Ros didn’t tell.’ Did she ever?

‘She wouldn’t over a phone line,’ Amy pointed out. ‘Too much chance of someone listening in.’

‘Someone who works either at MI-5 or GCHQ,’ Julius countered. ‘Of course Al-Qaeda could have learned how to do it overnight.’

‘Or the CIA or the FSB.’ Amy took a careful bite of egg. ‘Hm, this is actually pretty good, Julius. I didn’t think you were entirely serious when you said you could boil an egg, but…’ She stopped rambling when she caught his exasperated look. ‘I’m doing it again?’

That wasn’t even worth the trouble nodding. It still felt a bit surreal sitting here with Amy of all people. And it had just happened, much like his transfer to Section D, without him even noticing. It had started out as drinks after work after they had each gotten their own separate flat. They talked about Robert, which was much better than the therapy offered by the shrinks Harry Pearce had made them visit, and about work. Soon it turned to more personal matters and the drinks more often started taking place at either of their flats, mostly Amy’s, since her sofa was more suited to the purpose of sleeping on. And with the prejudices no longer clouding his judgement, she was actually quite nice and it had all gone from there.

Naturally his parents had made one hell of a scene when he told them that he was going to marry a Muggle-born witch. They had already voiced their displeasure at the top of their lungs – especially his father – when he had informed them he was going to work with and for Muggles. The only thing it had done for Julius was to strengthen his determination to go along with Amy’s mad scheme. The words blood traitor – Julius couldn’t help but cringe when he recalled he had not all that long ago been forced to read that from a piece of parchment – and disgrace had been mentioned. It had been ten times worse when he told them of his engagement. That had not gone over well at all. Julius had a lingering suspicion his father had disowned him; he hadn’t shown up at the wedding, even if his mother had. He had a hope that fences might still be mended, but it was a matter of wait and see.

‘Ready to go?’ he asked when they were done.

Amy nodded. ‘I’m not sure Harry’s blood pressure can take it if we make him wait. Apparition?’

It was the quickest way of transport known to men – magical or otherwise – and it would be most unwise to make Ros wait. For all he knew Al-Qaeda had really detonated a bomb somewhere and the red-flash really was serious, and in that case they needed to be on the Grid as soon as they possibly could. ‘Apparition,’ he agreed.

They Apparated to the lobby of Thames House and took the stairs from there. ‘You might want to hurry up!’ the security guard called after them. ‘Mr Pearce phoned down to ask if you had already arrived five minutes ago.’

‘Merlin’s beard,’ Amy muttered. ‘Couldn’t the terrorists just wait one more day before they wreaked havoc on the streets of London?’ Not _that_ eager to go to work then, Julius observed.

‘Who says it’s London?’ he questioned. ‘It might as well be York, Liverpool or…’

She interrupted him. ‘Point taken.’

They emerged from the pods into chaos. Amy immediately covered her ears against the sound and Julius was tempted to follow her example, no matter how childish that would make him look. But the noise was deafening, he would admit.

‘What is _that_?’ he asked of no one in particular.

‘Harry’s Sneakoscope, apparently.’ Lucas was the one closest to them and probably the only one who had even heard his question over the sound that suggested someone was torturing a cat in Harry’s office.

Amy’s mouth formed a silent oh. Next moment she ran off to Harry’s office to deal with the mess. It had been a birthday gift for Harry last year and a very useful one at that, since a good, Auror-approved Sneakoscope really warned him when someone untrustworthy entered his office. Of course it was also a very amusing thing from time to time, the most memorable occasions being the time that CIA liaison officer Laurie Werner told Harry the CIA always shared its intelligence and the thing immediately started to make such an awful noise that she was out in three seconds, continuing the conversation in the meeting room. The other time had been when Richard Dolby had invaded Harry’s office as if he belonged there. The Sneakoscope had promptly started to light up and whistle so loud that Dolby had reacted in the same fashion as Amy had just done: covered his ears with his hands. Furthermore he had demanded that someone would stop that thing making that noise. Amy and Julius simultaneously and without prior agreement on the matter had suddenly forgotten how to disable it by way of a silent protest. Dolby had eventually locked the thing in a drawer, but it could still be heard faintly. Back then it had given Julius a feeling of grim satisfaction.

A few taps of Amy’s wand later and the Grid was blessedly quiet again. Lucas exhaled in relief. ‘That’s a form of torture the Russians have never tried.’ He rubbed his temples. ‘Death by Sneakoscope.’

‘Best not tell them about it,’ Julius agreed. He turned to Amy and Harry, who joined them on the Grid, the latter clearly looking relieved. Julius could imagine that only too well; he had only been on the Grid for a little under two minutes and his ears were ringing already. He really shouldn’t have tweaked the magic on that thing before he gave the device to Harry. It had seemed like a brilliant idea to make the whistling sound a bit louder as to make it more effective, but he was starting to regret that now.

‘What the bloody hell was all that about?’ The angry words announced the arrival of Ros Myers, who had hidden in the meeting room until the noise had died down.

‘Was there an intruder?’ Julius asked. That would account for this explosion of noise.

‘We checked CCTV already,’ Jo reported. ‘No one since we left the Grid last time.’

Amy tried and failed to suppress a grin. ‘Oh, I don’t think there was an outsider.’

Julius frowned. ‘You know something we don’t?’

The grin widened. ‘I merely think that not everyone was quite done partying when the party ended last night,’ she explained. ‘I suppose someone had the brilliant plan to continue the celebration on the Grid.’

The too innocent looks of a few of his colleagues were all the confirmation Julius needed for that, but it didn’t quite explain why Harry’s Sneakoscope had been screeching like a drunken banshee. He voiced that question.

Amy looked every bit the cat that ate the canary. ‘So, whose bright idea was it to raid Harry’s private whisky stash?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we’ve come to the end of our story. But I am not quite done with this whole universe. The idea for a sequel got a bit out of hand, so I’m posting the first chapter of that story, Source of Light, in probably ten minutes after posting this one.  
> I hope you enjoyed this story. Please review and hopefully you’ll enjoy the sequel!


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